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Webster  Family  Library  of  Vetef,,     y     -r.viicine 

Cummings  Scboo!  of  Veterinary  Medicine  at 

Tufts  University 

200  Westboro  Road 

North  Grafton.  MA  01636 


THE 


QUORNDON   HOUNDS! 


OR, 


%  Wix^mm  at  Ultlton  ^lofokag. 


BY   FRAN-K   FORESTER. 

AUTHOR    OF     "my    shooting-box,"    "tHE    DEER-STALKERS,"    '"'tHE    WAR. 

"WICK  woodlands,"  etc.,  etc. 


WITH  ORIGINAL  ILLUSTEATIONS  BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


PHILADELPHIA 
T.    B.    PETERSON    &  BROTHERS; 

306    CHESTNUT     STREET. 


^<^^    -•  \^'    1 


"y 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

T.    B.     PETERSON, 

In  the  Clerk's  OiBce  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  in 
and  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 

GOhi^lSB,    PBIKTBK. 


My  Dear  Graham, 

Allow  me  to  dedicate  to  you,  the  following  little 
work,  of  wliich  tlie  previous  part  appeared  in  the 
pages  of  your  magazine.  I  do  not  say  your  capital 
magazine,  because  for  any  one  to  praise  a  man  to  his 
face  is  never  in  the  best  of  taste,  and  to  praise  himself 
is  always  in  the  worst,  and  I  hope  I  am  so  much 
identified  with  you  as  one  of  your  eldest,  if  not  the 
eldest,  inhabitants,  and  your  most  constant  collaborator, 
that  we  are  rather  arcades  amho,  than  mius  et  alter. 
Ever  your  friend  and  servant, 

HENRY  WM.  HERBERT. 


(3) 


%,hntl'mmtnl. 


The  aim  and  object  of  this  little  volume  is  to  lay 
before  my  sporting  friends  and  the  public  in  general, 
to  whom  I  have  so  often  discoursed — and  with  so 
kindly  hearers — concerning  the  Field  Sports  of 
America,  a  slight  sketch  of  English  Fox-hunting — 
the  sport  of  sports,  par  excellence,  and  that  sport 
carried  to  its  acme  as  it  is  no  where  but  with  the 
Quorndon  hounds  and  at  Melton  Mowbray. 

The  use  of  real  names  and  characters  will  be 
excused,  because  nothing  other  than  to  the  credit  of 
those  specially  named  is  herein  contained — the  identity 
of  those  unpleasantly  depicted  is  veiled  under  mis- 
nomers. 

For  the  rest  the  merit  of  the  sketch,  if  it  have  any, 
lies  in  its  perfect  truthfulness.  Men,  horses,  dogs, 
and  scenery  are  as  they  were  at  Melton  when  I  was 
there  last,  three  and  twenty  years  ago. 

HENRY  WM.  HERBERT. 


(5) 


Cantents* 


CHAPTER  I.  ^^ 

9 

A  Club-Room 

CHAPTER  II. 

28 
A  Virginian 

CHAPTER  III. 

45 
A  Hunting  Stable 

CHAPTER  IV. 
A  Trot  and  a  Dinner-Party "' 

CHAPTER  V. 
A  CoTERT  Side • 

CHAPTER  VI. 
A  Sharp  Burst  and  a  Hard  Run 

CHAPTER  VII. 
A  Ball  Room  and  a  Belle 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
lOKEN  Bones 

CHAPTER    IX. 


A  Breakfast  and  Broken  Bones 


1  A'i 

A  Bother,  and — a  Bride 


THE    aUORNDON    HOUNDS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  CLUB-ROOM. 

Who  does  not  know  what  Melton  Mowbray  was  ? 
Not  Melton  Mowbray  of  these  degenerate  days,  but 
the  Melton  Mowbray,  when  the  Squire  used  to  squeal, 
Goodrick  and  Holyoke  and  Forester — not  Frank,  by 
the  way,  but  my  lord — and  Alvanley  and  Campbell 
of  Saddell,  and  Valentine  Magher — the  bruisingest  of 
bruising  riders — and  Musgrave  of  the  north,  Peyton 
and  Gardner,  and  ill-natured  and  good-natured  Jem 
M'Donald,  and  fifty  others,  we  could  write  of  an'  we 
would,  to  ride — ay !  to  squeal  and  to  ride  to  the 
ladies'^ — to  Osbaldistone's  lady-pack.  Nothing  ever 
ran  on  earth  like  those  fleet,  glossy,  graceful  darlings ; 
nothing  ever  will  run  like  them  on  earth  again ;  for 
like  larking  ladies,  as  they  were,  they  almost  invaria- 
bly ran  away  ! 

It  was  in  Melton  Mowbray,  then,  in  the  good  days 
when  George  the  Fourth  was  king — before  the  world 
had  heard  tell  of  any  of  the  ists  or  isms — when  men 
feared  their  God,  honored  their  king,  went  to  church 

*  It  was  the  practice  of  that  consummate  sportsman  and  great 
huntsman  to  work,  feed,  and  lodge  his  dog-pack  and  hitch-pack 
separately,  instead  of  using  the  two  sexes  promiscuously.  The  ladies 
were  the  love  and  delight  of  all  true  sportsmen;  and  in  Northamp- 
tonshire and  Liecestershirc  their  fame  will  live  till  doomsday. 

(9) 


10'  A  CLUB-ROOM. 

o'  Sundays,  and  drank  their  port  at  dinner,  without 
once  dreaming  that  they  were  behind  the  age,  much 
less  that  they  were  robbers,  insomuch  as  they  owned 
goodly  acres;  or  habitual  drunkards,  insomuch  as 
they  preferred  Bordeaux  to  milk  and  water,  and  old 
October  to  the  then  unsung  and  unhonored  Croton. 

It  was  in  Melton  Mowbray,  then,  on  a  dark,  driz- 
zling Saturday  night,  in  the  latter  end  of  November, 
1830,  that  we  will  take  a  peep  into  the  interior  of  the 
Melton  Club-room. 

There ;  it  is,  as  you  see,  a  large,  substantially  fur- 
nished, well-lighted  room ;  prepared  with  especial 
reference  to  comfort,  but  very  little  heed  to  show. 
The  carpets  are  of  the  softest,  the  arm-chairs  of  the 
easiest,  the  grates  are  replenished  with  piles  of  Can- 
nel  coal,  blazing  as  if  they  would  outvie  the  hun- 
dreds of  wax  candles  ;  the  arm-chairs  are  filled,  the 
sofas  occupied,  the  tables  surrounded  by  the  first 
men  in  England ;  the  first  in  birth  and  breeding,  as 
in  bearing  and  appearance — many  the  first  in  talent, 
as  in  rank ;  some  with  hard-earned  and  world-wide 
reputation  ;  and  yet,  in  the  means  and  appliances  for 
their  comfort,  there  is  none  of  that  ostentatious  dis- 
play of  glass  and  gilding,  of  satin  and  velvet,  of  huhl 
and  marquetry,  which  is  to  be  seen  with  us  in  the 
town-house  of  every  fifth-rate  merchant  prince,  who 
is  to-day  a  millionaire,  to-morrow  a  bankrupt  and  a 
beggar ;  nay !  even  in  the  saloon  of  every  transient 
steamboat  that  plies,  laden  with  emigrants  and 
traders,  trappers,  and  miners,  backwoodsmen  and 
blacklegs,  over  the  glittering  waters  of  our  great 
western  lakes. 

A  few  fine  pictures  on  the  walls,  by  Lawrence  or 
Sir  Joshua,  by  Stubbs  and  Cooper  and  Landseer, 
portraits  these  of  distinguished  Nimrods  of  their  day, 
masters  of  packs,  or  followers  of  the  Quorn,  those  of 
theii'  favorite  companions  and  allies,  the  horses  that 


A  CLUB-ROOM.  11 

lived  to  the  end  of  the  longest  run,  the  hounds  that 
ran  the  fleetest  and  the  truest ;  but  no  mh-rors  of  plate- 
glass,  wherein  Goliah  might  have  viewed  himself  en- 
tire, horsed  on  a  charger  up  to  his  colossal  frame ;  no 
cornices  of  carven  gold ;  no  tables  of  invaluable  por- 
phyry, or  consoles  of  Russian  malachite. 

Two  or  three  whist-tables  are  distinguished  easily 
enough,  by  the  gravity  and  silence  of  their  occupants ; 
two  or  three  more,  merrier  and  more  noisily  sur- 
rounded, where  ecartd  is  in  full  blast — at  one  of  the 
first,  that  down-looking,  light-haired,  uneyebrowed 
man,  with  a  voice  clear  and  soft  as  a  silver-trumpet, 
a  voice  whose  pleadings,  it  is  said,  no  woman  ever 
heard  and  resisted — you  would  pass  him  in  a  crowd 
utterly  unnoticed,  yet  he  has  broken  more  hearts  and 
ruined  more  reputations  than  any  man  in  England — 
that  is  Henry  de  R''''^*,  untainted  as  yet  by  the  infamy 
which  in  after  days  tarnished  the  ermine  of  his  baro- 
nial robes,  and  known  only  as  the  best  and  luckiest 
whist-player,  the  man  most  a  bonnes  fortunes  of  all 
in,  or  out  of  London. 

Opposite  him,  that  handsome,  large-built  man,  with 
the  aquiline  nose  and  well-opened  eye,  the  most  aris- 
tocratic air  and  bearing,  yet  the  openest  and  most 
kindly  manner,  that  is  the  Duke  of  Beaufort,  the 
dashing  Worcester  of  past  days,  never  to  be  forgotten 
as  the  best-natured  of  the  dandies.  Two  Georges  fill 
the  party  quarre,  the  handsome  and  elaborately  got 
up  Anson,  with  his  finely  chiseled  but  somewhat  un- 
meaning features ;  and  his  small,  natty,  well-dressed 
vis-a-vis,  the  prince  of  sportsmen  and  goodfellows,  the 
deepest  of  betters,  and  most  unmoved  of  losers,  then 
something  new  upon  the  turf,  George  Payne  of  Selby. 
That  slovenly,  nay,  almost  dirty,  person  who  has  just 
backed  De  R***  so  heavily  against  Tom  Gascoigne, 
is  the  well  known  baronet  Sir  William  Ingilby,  so 
well  known  for  his  naive  replies,  in  after  days,  on  the 


IZ  A  CLUB-ROOM. 

De  R***  investigation,  whereby  he  avowed  that  when 
a  friend,  who  had  detected  the  unhappy  baron  in  the 
act  of  cheating,  asked  his  advice  as  to  what  should  be 
done,  he  advised  him  "always  to  be  his  partner,  or  tc 
back  him." 

Perhaps,  already  he  suspects  him ;  at  all  events  he 
backs  him  ;  and  lo !  he  has  won,  for  Tom  is  shelling 
out  the  bank  notes  to  a  heavy  figure. 

About  that  other  table,  larking  and  laughing  mer- 
rily over  their  pool  at  ecart^,  are  a  younger  party, 
Jardinier  and  the  M'Donalds,  Dick  Gascoigne,  and 
Mount  Sandford,  Foljambe,  and  Charley  Sutton,  all 
except  the  first  named  merry,  and  more  elated  with 
their  fun  than  minding  the  game,  or  caring  about  the 
winnings  ;  but  Jardinier's  brow  is  bent,  and  his  ex- 
pression dark  and  sullen  ;  his  mind  is  on  his  winnings, 
and  he  plays,  as  he  rides,  boldly  and  very  well,  but 
with  a  cold,  ill-natured,  sulky  resolution,  as  unlike  as 
possible  to  the  fierce,  rash,  furious  style  which  marks 
his  rival,  equally  in  daring  horsemanship  and  despe- 
rate bad  temper — the  most  unpopular  man  in  England, 
then  ill-known  as  Bellamy,  now  worse  known  as  Gar- 
rondale. 

There  again,  at  another  whist-table,  with  his  hat 
pulled  down  over  his  dogged,  saturnine  features,  and 
his  dark  claret-colored  cut-away — that  is  the  clever, 
wayward,  cross,  and  fitful  John  George  Lambton,  not 
yet  Lord  Durham ;  and  opposite  to  him,  with  small 
pinched  face,  that  you  scarcely  know  whether  to  call 
plain  or  handsome,  and  an  air  most  fastidious,  if  you 
should  not  rather  call  it  contemptuous,  sits  most  ec- 
centric of  all  talents,  most  talented  of  all  eccentrics, 
Tom  Duncombe. 

The  very  fat  man,  Lambton's  partner,  is  the  bon 
vivant,  the  wit,  the  welter  weight,  the  friend,  under 
an  older  dynasty  of  fashion,  of  Brummel  and  the 
prince,  and  still  the  cream  of  the  cream  of  the  London 


A  CLUB-ROOM.  13 

world,  and  the  slashingest  heavy  weight  in  all  Leices- 
tershire, that  is  Lord  Alvanley ;  he  who  proposed  to 
amend  the  constitution  of  the  natural  and  civil  year, 
by  having  all  the  frost  and  snow  of  the  former,  all  the 
Sundays  of  the  latter,  gathered  into  the  months  of 
April,  May,  June  and  July,  so  that  neither  weather 
nor  worship  should  interfere  with  the  sportsman's 
occupation,  from  the  first  of  shooting  on  the  moors  in 
August  until  the  last  of  fox-hunting  in  March. 

He  with  a  chin  almost  as  long  as  that  of  Titus 
Gates,  of  ill  memory,  making  his  mouth  appear  to  be 
in  the  centre  of  his  face,  that  is  Molyneux,  except 
his  father  Sefton,  the  best  finger  on  four  horses  in 
the  kingdom,  and  second  to  very  few  at  a  brook  or  a 
bullfinch. 

Musgrave  and  Magher,  Goodricke  and  Holyoke  sit 
in  close  conclave  with  the  Squire,  discussing  points 
of  bone  and  muscle,  breeding  and^  blood,  as  if  the 
nation's  weal  thereon  depended,  in  low  tones,  of  which 
nothing  escaped  to  the  general  ear,  except  now  and 
then  some  such  phi-ase  as  "  splendid  arm" — ''  why,  yes ; 
a  little  cross-made,  but  monstrous  power,  and  then 
such  a  stride  " — or,  "no — by  Timoleon  out  of  an  Or- 
ville  mare,"  or  scnuething  of  similar  import  relating  to 
what  was  to  those  most  veritable  members  of  the 
equestrian  order,  the  only  serious  subject  of  thought 
and  object  of  life. 

Others  of  less  note,  younger,  yet  ardent  votaries  of 
the  chase,  were  lounging  about,  sipping  cofiee  or  cura- 
coa,  chatting  of  the  news  of  the  day,  the  best  run  of 
the  season,  which  had  occurred  on  that  very  Saturday ; 
whose  horse  had  lived  to  the  end  of  it ;  how  Osbaldis- 
tone's  "Clasher"  had  cleared  the  Union  Canal  lock 
between  Turlangton  and  Countisthorpe,  twenty-five 
feet  of  bright  water  in  his  stride ;  how  many  of  his 
ribs,  or  whether  it  was  his  collar-bone,  Grantly  Ber- 
keley broke  in  that  tremendous  push  over  the  park 


14  A  CLUB-ROOM. 

gate  below  Arnesby ;  whose  wife  it  was  Jem  Trevor 
had  run  away  with ;  and  whether  Schwartzenbergh 
was  going  to  marry  Lady  Ellenborough,  or  if  it  was 
true  that  he  had  got  the  emperor  to  forbid  it. 

Some  of  the  old  hands  were  beginning  to  talk  about 
going  home,  and  many  of  the  young  ones  were  order- 
ing broiled  bones  and  deviled  lobsters,  mulled  Bur- 
gundy or  iced  hock,  to  be  prepared  in  the  dining-room, 
with  a  passing  remark  that  it  would  not  much  matter 
if  there  should  be  a  spice  of  headache  the  next  morn- 
ing, as  it  was  Sunday  and  there  would  be  nothing 
to  do. 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Alvanley  laughing,  as  he  got  up 
from  his  whist-table,  and  pocketed  Lambton's  sover- 
eigns, "  quite  right  Charley ;  for  my  own  part,  I  find 
it  vastly  improving,  as  the  Methodists  call  it,  to  have 
a  little  headache  on  Sunday  morning;  it  promotes  re- 
pentance so  much,  and  I  make  it  a  practice  always  to 
repent  on  Sundays.  I  think,  in  fact,  that  the  bishops 
ought  to  have  it  seriously  recommended.  I'll  speak 
to  Sydney  Smith  about  it,  when  I  see  him  next." 

"About  what,  my  lord?"  said  a  tall,  elegantly 
shaped,  slender  man,  whose  black  coat,  though  it  was 
cut  in  rather  sporting  style,  pro\^ed  his  cloth ;  and 
who  was  no  other  than  that  splendid  horseman,  and 
yet  more  splendid  whip,  Algernon  Peyton,  Rector  of 
Fen  Drayton.  "It  is  something  new  for  you  to  med- 
dle with  church  matters,  since  the  bishops  refused  to 
concentrate  the  Sundays  for  you.  What  do  you  want 
the  bench  of  incurables  to  recommend  now?" 

"  Only  getting  drunk  on  Saturday  nights,"  cried 
Jardinier,  with  a  rude,  coarse  laugh,  "in  order  to 
promote  repentance  on  Sunday  mornings ;  what  do  you 
think  of  it,  most  reverend?" 

"I  don't  think  it  would  do  at  all,"  said  Chesliire, 
who  had  been  standing  stupidly,  and  half  sulkily,  lis- 
tening  without   speaking,    suddenly   giving   tongue. 


A  CLUB-ROOM.  15 

<<  Not  at  all  for  gentlemen  ;  the  lower  orders  aliivays 
get  drunk  on  Saturday." 

"A  very  sage  remark,  Ches.,"  replied  Castlereagh, 
with  a  light  laugh,  for,  though  they  were  great  allies, 
he  never  missed  a  chance  of  giving  a  slap  to  the  stupid, 
haughty  don.  "  On  the  same  principle,  of  course, 
you  never  dine  or  sup  on  Saturday  nights,  for  that  is 
the  night  par  excellence  on  which  those  poor  devils  do 
sup,  if  they  sup  at  all." 

"By  the  same  rule,  gentlemen  must  never  kiss 
their  wives  on  Saturday  nights,"  said  Tom  Gas- 
coigne. 

"  Tom,  you  are,  out  of  all  reckoning,  behind  the 
day,"  returned  Castlereagh.  "  Gentlemen  of  Ches's. 
order  never  kiss  their  wives.  Other  men's  wives  are 
your  only  Cheshire  kissing." 

What  remark  the  snob  nobleman  would  have  made 
to  this  gentle  cut  is  unfortunately  lost  to  the  world  in 
general,  and  to  the  readers  of  Graham  in  particular  ; 
for  at  this  moment,  the  door  opened,  and  there  ap- 
peared on  the  threshold  a  very  good-looking  and  ex- 
ceedingly gentlemanly  person,  of  small  and  rather 
slender  frame,  but  exquisitely  made  both  for  grace  and 
power,  with  dark,  cui'ling  hair,  dark,  oriental  eyes, 
and  a  slightly  Asiatic  cast  of  features,  set  off  by  a 
small  penciled  moustache  and  imperial. 

He  had  a  traveling  cap  on  his  head,  and  a  dark 
cloth  pelisse,  lined  throughout  with  the  most  superb 
Babies,  over  a  plain  evening  dress. 

Scarcely  had  he  shown  himself  before  he  was  hailed 
by  a  perfect  tumult  of  welcome  and  congratulation, 
proving  the  extreme  popularity  of  the  new  comer. 
Popular  indeed  he  was,  none  ever  more  so,  or  more 
deservedly  so,  as  every  one  will  admit,  who  remem- 
bers, oris  so  happy  as  to  know,  the  Count  Matuschevitz. 

A  finished  and  thorough  gentleman,  as  all  Russian 
gentlemen  we  have  ever  seen  invariably  are ;  a  man 


16  A  CLUB-ROOM. 

of  profound  accomplishment;  of  singular  skill  as  a 
linguist,  speaking  every  modern  tongue  with  the  flu- 
ency and  ease  of  a  native  ;  a  diplomatist  of  perfect 
■finesse,  though  at  the  period  of  which  we  write  his 
abilities  in  that  line  were  undeveloped ;  he  was,  in  ad- 
dition to  all  this,  as  agreeable  an  associate,  as  amiable 
a  companion,  and  as  good  a  fellow  as  ever  was  sent  to 
represent  one  foreign  power  near  the  court  of  another. 

At  this  particular  time,  the  diplomatic  situation  of 
the  Count  Matuschevitz  was  somewhat  anomalous, 
for,  although  he  was  known  to  be  connected  with  the 
embassy,  at  the  head  of  which  then  was  the  magnifi- 
cent Prince  Lieven,  his  duties  were  singularly  unbur- 
thensome,  his  sole  occupations  seeming  to  be  killing 
the  time  by  means  of  all  those  stirring  and  athletic 
exercises,  games  and  sports  which  have  in  all  ages, 
and  under  all  sovereigns,  been  the  peculiar  favorites 
of  the  manly  aristocracy  of  old  England. 

In  after  days  it  came  out,  that  the  avocations  and 
duties  of  the  gay  and  gallant  count  were  identical ; 
and  that  the  best  shot,  the  best  rider,  the  best  fencer, 
tennis-player,  sparrer,  in  the  Russian  empire,  he  was 
sent  by  the  great  and  shrewd  ruler  of  that  wonderful 
semi-barbarous  power,  all  of  whose  rulers  seem  to  be, 
by  hereditary  right  and  the  grace  of  God,  great  and 
wise,  and  shrewd  and  crafty,  for  the  express  end  and 
purpose  of  riding  and  shooting,  sparring  and  fencing 
himself  into  the  good  graces  of  the  English  gentry  and 
nobility ;  and  so  becoming  the  associate  of  their  pri- 
vate hours,  and  the  judge  of  their  characters,  to  a  de- 
gree unattainable  by  the  envoys  of  any  other  court. 

How  far  Nicholas  succeeded  in  his  purpose  it  is  not 
within  the  scope  of  this  paper  to  divulge ;  but  this 
much  is  certain,  that,  although  in  the  omnibus  box  at 
the  opera,  in  the  drawing-rooms,  or  ball-rooms  of  the 
metropolis,  the  French  or  the  Italian,  the  Austrian  or 
the  Prussian  envoys  and  attaches  might  keep  pace 


A  CLUB-EOOM.  17 

with  clever  Russian,  in  the  recess  of  Parliament,  when 
the  peers  shoot  pheasants,  and  the  members  fox-hunt, 
they  had  no  more  chance  with  Matuschevitz,  than  a 
French  hoxeur  would  have  had  with  Tom  Crib ;  or  a 
French  jochei  with  Jim  Robinson  or  Chififnej,  in  the 
pig-skin. 

To  this  day  and  hour,  no  Frenchman,  not  even  the 
admirable  Crichton  of  the  nineteenth  century,  the  imi- 
tated but  inimitable  D'Orsay,  has  ever  been  known  to 
get  even  tolerably  well  across  a  country.  It  is  not 
pluck  they  lack,  nor  horsemanship — their  cavalry  are 
better  riders  than  the  English — but  somehow  or  other 
it  is  not  in  them — they  haven't  got  the  go,  still  less 
the  judgment  and  coolness,  the  head,  the  hand,  and 
the  seat,  which  must  be  combined  to  carry  a  man  well 
across  the  country  in  the  pig-skin  upon  the  back  of  a 
flyer. 

Multitudinous  Frenchmen  can  pop  over  rabbits  in  a 
furze  brake,  slaughter  pheasants  at  a  battue,  shoot 
hares  from  behind  a  rock  or  a  bush,  lying  perdu,  at  a 
dead  aim ;  but  when  we  see  one  Frenchman,  born  and 
bred  in  la  belle  France,  do  his  day's  walking  and  day's 
shooting  in  good  style  on  the  moors — throw  a  fly 
neatly  over  a  trout  stream — or  ride,  as  we  have  said, 
even  tolerably  well  across  a  country,  we  shall  expect 
the  next  morning  to  see  a  blackamoor  washed  white, 
and  a  leopard  change  his  spots. 

Bat  this  little  digression,  finished,  we  return  to  our 
muttons,  and  beg  to  assm-e  the  reader  that  if  no 
Frenchman  ever  had  the  go  in  him  for  Leicestershire, 
the  Russian  Matuschevitz  had  it  in  perfection. 

If  at  first  the  old  stagers  laughed  in  their  sleeves  at 
the  somewhat  dragoon  seat,  the  tip  of  the  toe  only  in 
the  stirrup,  the  heel  well  sunk  and  turned  outward, 
and  the  too  accurately  manege  style  of  the  whole  seat 
and  turn  out,  no  one  could  deny  the  unmistakeablc 
firmness  of  that  seat  at  the  stiffest  fence  or  widest 
170 


18  A  CLUB-EOOM. 

brook ;  no  one  could  question  the  quickness  and  light- 
ness of  the  finger  in  a  difficulty ;  no  one  could  doubt 
the  pluck — that  truly  English  quality — with  which  he 
resumed  his  seat  after  the  most  weltering  fall,  and 
crammed,  without  flinching  or  craning,  his  half-blown 
beast  at  the  next  bullfinch. 

In  a  short  time,  too,  the  one  obnoxious  thing,  the 
seat  and  style  were  altered.  The  count  was  too  thor- 
ough a  horseman  not  to  perceive  and  adopt  at  once  the 
superiority  of  the  English  jockey  seat  over  the  dra- 
goon— or  continental — style,  whether  in  a  race  over 
the  flats  or  in  getting  across  a  country. 

Before  his  first  season  was  complete,  his  bent  knee, 
home  foot  in  the  stirrup,  and  low  bridle-hand  were  as 
correct,  as  his  pluck  and  daring  had  from  the  first  been 
undeniable.  The  count  had  ridden,  booted  and  spur- 
red, in  jockey-tops  and  white  leathers,  into  the  most 
intimate  afi'ections  of  the  sporting  aristocracy  of  Eng- 
land. 

Loud,  therefore,  was  the  burst  of  affectionate  greet- 
ing, from  young  and  old,  dandy  or  country  gentleman, 
that  greeted  Matuschevitz  as  he  made  his  entree  into 
the  club-room,  expected  indeed,  but  greeted  as  if  unex- 
pected, and  at  once  the  observed  of  all  observers. 

"  So  you  have  come  at  last,  count.  We  had  almost 
given  you  up,  but  better  late  than  never,"  exclaimed 
one. 

"  Deuced  well  mounted  though,  now  that  you  have 
come,"  cried  another. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  they  came  in  ten  days  ago,"  said  Jem 
McDonald ;  "  Alick  and  I  went  down  to  look  at  them 
last  Sunday.  Your  fellow,  Martindale,  is  getting  fa- 
mously forward  with  them." 

"  You're  too  late,  Matuschevitz,  for  the  best  thing 
we're  like  to  have  this  season.  One  day  too  late," 
said  Valentine  Magher.  "  Only  this  morning.  From 
the  gorse  above  Turlangton,  into  the  vale,  across  the 


A  CLUB-ROOM.  19 

canal-lock  toward  Arnesby  village,  tlirougli  the  park, 
and  ran  into  him  in  a  grass  field  on  the  hill  over 
Countisthorpe,  twelve  miles  and  a  half  as  the  crow 
flies,  without  a  single  check,  in  an  hour  and  ten  min- 
utes." 

"  The  cream  of  every  thing  in  the  shape  of  fox- 
hunting," said  Sir  James  Musgrave. 

"  The  worse  luck  mine,"  said  the  count  laughing, 
as  he  at  length  got  an  opportunity  of  getting  in  a 
word,  after  undergoing  the  extremity  of  hand-shaking, 
divesting  himself  of  his  sable  cloak,  and  ensconcing 
himself  in  an  arm-chair  by  the  fire.  "  But  we  must 
try  to  make  up  for  it  yet.  What  are  you  going  to  do 
for  us  to-morrow,  squire  ?"  he  continued,  speaking  per- 
fectly good  English,  without  the  slightest  foreign  ac- 
cent. "  No,  not  to-morrow,  for  that,  as  the  lawyers 
say,  is  dies  non,  but  on  Monday." 

"  Something  good  if  we've  any  luck,"  squeaked 
Osbaldiston.  "Wymondham  village  is  our  meet,  and 
if  we  find  a  good  fox  we  may  take  you  across  the 
Whitsendine,  and  down  into  the  vale,  count." 

"  That  gray  will  be  the  thing  for  Monday,  Matus- 
chevitz,"  said  Harry  Goodrick,  the  best  judge  of  a 
weight-carrier  in  the  country,  unless  it  were  Magher. 

"  He  is  a  magnificent  brute,  such  power  and  such 
breeding,  too  ;  he  would  carry  my  sixteen  stone  just 
as  easily  as  your  twelve.  Take  my  advice  and  ride 
him  on  Monday ;  the  vale  will  be  devilish  heavy  after 
these  rains,  and  the  brooks  are  all  bankfull." 

"No,  Sir  Harry,  Martindale's  commands  are  the 
brown  mare,  and  the  dark-chestnut,  for  the  second 
horse ;  and,  you  know,  Martindale  brooks  no  question 
of  supremacy  in  his  department." 

"  Oh  !  Martindale  be  hanged ;  ride  the  gray  ;  he  is 
out  and  out  the  best  of  the  lot ;  though  the  lot  is  «. 
prime  one." 


20  A  CLUB-KOOM. 

"  Sorry  you  think  so,  for  the  gray  is — " 

"Is  what?"  asked  half  a  dozen  eager  voices. 
*'  There  is  nothing  wrong  about  him,  I'll  be  sworn." 

"  Is — not  mine." 

"None  of  them  are,  for  that  matter,  I  fancy,"  said 
the  laird  of  Saddell ;  "  I  suppose  Tilbury  horses  you 
as  usual ;  and  he  has  done  wonders  for  you  this  year. 
By  the  bye,  what  a  lot  of  them  you've  got ;  I  counted 
fifty-six  as  they  came  in,  beside  hacks." 

"  He  is  not  Tilbury's  either.  There  were  two  lots 
together  :  only  thirty  of  them  are  mine.  I  wish  he 
was  mine,  but  I  can't  get  him,  though  I  bid  five  hun- 
dred for  him  at  sight,  without  trial." 

"  Why,  whose  the  devil  is  he  then  ?  He  looks  too 
high  bred  for  a  provincial?" 

"  Are  we  to  have  a  new  snob,  count,  this  season?" 
asked  ill-natured  Jardinier,  with  a  coarse  oath ;  he 
was  expelled  from  Eton  for  foul  language.  "  We've 
had  no  one  to  roast,  this  year  and  more." 

"  The  gray  belongs  to  Mr.  Fairfax,"  answered  the 
Russian  quietly,  "  and  from  all  that  I  have  heard,  I 
don't  think  he  will  do  very  well  for  roasting,  Lord 
Jardinier." 

"  No,  indeed,  will  he  not,"  said  Dick  Gascoigne, 
"  Tom  is  the  best  man  in  Yorkshire,  and  neither  Jar- 
dinier nor  any  one  else  will  ride  much  before  him. 
But  I  had  no  notion  Tom  was  coming  here.  I  heard 
from  him  ten  days  ago,  and  he  said  nothing  about 
leaving  Yorkshire.'* 

"  I  don't  believe,  Gascoigne,  he  ever  was  in  Yorkshire 
in  all  his  life,"  answered  Matuschevitz  with  a  smile. 

"What,  not  Tom  Fairfax  of  Newton  Kyne?" 

"  Certainly  not  Tom  Fairfax  of  Newton  Kyne,  but 
Percy  Fairfax  of  Accomac." 

"  Of  Ace— what  ?" 

"  Who  the  deuce  is  Percy  Fairfax  V* 

"Where  the  devil  is  Accomac  ?" 


A  CLUB-ROOM.  21 

"  Is  that  place  with  an  unpronounceable  name  in 
Siberia,  count?" 

"By  no  means,  it  is  in  Virginia." 

"Where's  that?"  asked  Cheshire,  whose  hereditary 
senatorship  had  not  carried  with  it  any  geographical 
lore,  either  hereditary  or  acquired. 

"  Oh !  don't  you  know  that  ?"  cried  Vauxhall  scorn- 
fully. "  I  thought  every  one  knew  that — it's  a  place 
somewhere  in  Italy ;  I  know  I  used  to  read  about  it 
in  the  Roman  history." 

"Exactly,  Vaux,"  said  Tom  Gascoigne,  laughing, 
as  was  every  one  in  the  room  at  this  strange  jumble, 
"  The  capital  of  Volscia,  the  grand-duke  of  it  is  Corio- 
lanus — or — no,  he  died  the  other  day,  I  think;  did 
he  not,  Matuschevitz  ?  You  Russians  are  always  mar- 
velously  posted  up  in  history  one  way  or  other." 

"  To  answer  all  your  questions  at  once ;  for,  not 
being  absolutely  posted  up  to  the  extent  for  which  you 
give  me  credit,  I  made  some  inquiries  about  Colonel 
Fairfax,  whom  I  met  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks  ago  at 
the  Travelers — to  answer  all  your  questions  at  once, 
Accomac  is  a  county  in  Virginia ;  this  Virginia  is  not. 
Lord  Vauxhall,  a  place  in  Italy,  but  one  of  the  United 
States  of  North  America ;  and  Colonel  Percy  Fairfax 
is  now  Secretary  of  Legation  near  the  Court  of  St. 
James.  He  has  been  for  some  time  with  Mr.  Rush 
at  Paris,  and  has  just  been  appointed  to  London." 

"The  devil!  a  live  Yankee  !" 

"  How  the  deuce  came  he  by  two  such  names  as 
Percy  and  Fairfax?"  asked  Cheshire,  who  A«c?  read 
the  peerage  as  well  as  the  turf  register.  "  The  fellow 
must  be  an  impostor."  . 

"  I  rather  think  not,"  interposed  Lambton,  proving 
then  that  he  did  know  something  about  American  his- 
tory, as  he  proved  afterward,  as  Earl  of  Durham,  that 
he  knew  nothing  about  Canadian  politics.  "  I  rather 
think  you  will  find,  Cheshire,"  he  continued,  with  a 


22  A  CLUB-ROOM. 

sweet  sneer  on  his  cynical  yet  half  handsome  features, 
""  that,  about  the  time  when  a  noble  ancestor  of  yours 
was  dancing  and  making  bon-mots  with  De  Grammont 
and  the  other  wits  and  bloods — as  it  was  then  the 
fashion  of  the  day  to  call  them — of  King  Charles  the 
Second's  court,  the  near  descendants,  who  have  now 
both  become,  by  chance  of  blood,  the  right  heirs  male 
of  the  Earls  Percy  and  the  Barons  Fairfax,  emigrated 
to  Virginia  and  founded  families.  I  suppose  this  gen- 
tleman belongs  to  that  lineage,  count." 

"Precisely  so.  Fairfax  on  the  father's  side,  Percy 
on  the  mother's." 

"  I  thought  as  much  when  I  heard  you  speak  of 
him.     And  what  sort  of  person  is  he?" 

"  Very  much  comme  il  faut ;  handsome  enough, 
and  good  manners ;  tant  soit  peu  French,  rather  than 
English,  in  his  manner ;  and  perhaps  a  little  too  fin- 
ished in  his  English  ;  yet  on  the  whole  very  well — a 
fine  young  man  I  should  call  him,  and  I  fancy,  a  good 
fellow." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  too  finished  in  his  English, 
count?"  asked  Jardinier,  who  was  no  great  dab  at 
speaking,  and  no  hand  at  all  at  spelling,  the  vernacu- 
lar— "  that  must  be  very  funny." 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know  exactly ;  he  uses  too  long  words 
perhaps ;  he  says  '  extraordinary '  when  we  should  say 
'odd,'  and  lovely'  where  we  would  say  'pretty;'  and 
he  calls  the  'blacks'  'our  colored  population.'  But 
it  only  sounds  quaint ;  no  one  would  call  it  vulgar  or 
affected,  and  on  the  whole,  Jardinier,  I  would  not  ad- 
vise you  to  try  to  roast  him." 

"By !"  exclaimed  the  peer,  with  an  oath,  "  I 

shan't  try  it.     I  have  not  the  least  taste  for  blunder- 
busses in  a  saw-pit." 

"  He  would  hardly  need  those,"  said  the  Russian, 
"  though  he  looks  likely  enough  to  use  them  on  occa- 
sion.    He  did  shoot  a  couple  of  French  fellows,  I  fee- 


A  CLUB-ROOM.  23 

lleve,  in  some  barbarous  barrier  duel  whicb  tbey  forced 
on  him,  before  his  breakfast.  But  he  can  shoot  well 
enough  with  pistols,  in  all  conscience.  I  saw  him  beat 
Horatio  Ross,  the  other  day,  at  twenty  paces ;  and, 
after  that,  shoot  a  tie  with  D'Orsay." 

"What  keeps  D'Orsay  in  town?"  asked  Cheshire. 

"Fear  of  his  tailor,  I  believe,"  said  Matusche- 
vitz.  "  But  they  say  that  Wiltshire  and  Pembroke 
are  going  to  pay  his  debts,  so  you  may  look  for  him 
soon." 

"  But  tell  us  some  more  about  the  Yankee  ?  Is  he 
quarrelsome  that  you  put  Jardinier  on  his  guard 
against  him?" 

"Not  in  the  least,  so  far  as  I  have  ever  seen  ;  but 
then,  you  know,  Jardinier  sometimes  is  a  little.  Nor 
did  I  put  him  on  his  guard  against  Colonel  Fairfax, 
only  against  roasting  him.  I  like  Fairfax  very  much, 
as  you  will  judge  when  I  tell  you  he  came  with  me 
from  London  in  my  britcka,  and  we  have  taken  house 
and  stables  together  for  the  season." 

"  Indeed  !     Then  you  know  him  very  well  ?" 

"  As  well  as  one  knows  a  man  he  has  known  three 
weeks." 

"  Rich  ?"  asked  stingy  Jardinier. 

'^Par  dieul  I  never  asked  him." 

"No  ;  but  you  might  have  guessed." 

"Heft  that  for  him  to  do." 

"Good  heaven  1  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  he 
\guesses,'  and  di*awls,  and  talks  through  his  nose,  like 
Matthews  in  Jonathan  W.  Doubikins.  I  shall  die  of 
laughing  if  he  does,  though  I  were  sure  to  be  shot  for 
it  the  next  minute,"  said  Tom  Duncombe. 

"No.  I  was  only  joking  of  course.  He  speaks  as 
well  as  you  do." 

"Devilish   inquisitive,  of  course,"  said   Jardinier 
nothing  abashed  as  yet — for  to  say  the 


24  A  CLUB-ROOM. 

simple  truth,  it  does  take  a  good  deal  to  abash 
him. 

^'  He  never  asked  me  if  you  were  rich,  Lord  Jardi- 
nier,"  Matuschevitz  answered,  quietly  and  drily  ;  for 
he  disliked  that  worthy  about  as  much  as  his  good-na- 
ture and  careless  temper  allowed  him  to  dislike  any 
body. 

"  There  now,  for  heaven's  sake,  Jardinier,  don't 
ask  any  more  questions  to-night,"  cried  Tom  Gas- 
coigne,  laughing  enough  to  split  his  sides,  "  I 
should  think  you'd  got  enough  to  satisfy  a  dozen 
Yankees." 

"  I  shall  ask  as  many  more  questions  as  I  please, 
and  I  don't  see  that  I've  got  any  thing,  as  you  call 
it." 

"Oh!  don't  you?"  said  Tom  quietly,  "pray  ask 
more  then ;  I  dare  say  the  count  will  answer  you,  and 
it's  very  droll." 

"  That  will  be  as  I  please,"  grumbled  the  other 
doggedly,  and  walked  off  into  the  dining  room,  where 
he  called  for  a  glass  of  brandy  and  water,  drank  it  by 
himself,  and  stalked  away,  as  it  seemed  to  the  regret 
of  nobody. 

"  Well,"  said  the  riding  Russian,  breaking  the  si- 
lence that  ensued  on  his  lordship's  departure,  "you 
are  a  very  hospitable  Set  of  fellows,  certainly ;  for  here 
I  have  been  an  hour  and  a  half,  talking  myself  hoarse, 
and  hungry  as  a  man  who  has  not  eaten  a  mouthful 
but  one  tough  mutton-chop  at  the  '  Cock  at  Eaton,* 
since  breakfast,  and  not  one  of  you  have  offered  me  a 
glass  of  wine,  or  a  mouthful  of  supper." 

"  It 's  your  own  fault,  count,  for  amusing  us  with 
such  inventions  about  nobly-born  and  highly-bred  Yan- 
kee secretaries.  I  believe  they  are  all  sheer  imagina- 
tion. But  come  along,  we  ordered  some  deviled  lob- 
sters, and  broiled  bones,  and  Grey  announced  the 
arrival    this    afternoon    of    some    real    Colchesters. 


A  CLUB-ROOM.  25 

There  Is  a  batch  of  capital  Chablis  in  ice,  nnd  some 
of  Metternich's  own  Johannisberger,  which  Sefton 
sent  down  the  other  day  to  Alvanley.  Come  along, 
if  you'll  tell  us  the  truth  about  this  Virginian  phoenix, 
we'll  feed  you  to  your  heart's  desire." 

''  Not  a  word  till  I  have  eaten,  and  more  especially 
drank.     My  tongue  cleaves  to  my  jaws." 

And  thereupon  they  adjourned  to  the  dining-room, 
and  for  a  short  time  nothing  was  heard  but  the  cluck- 
ing of  corks  drawn  from  the  long  necks,  and  the  clash 
of  knives,  till  the  ardor  of  eating  was  repressed  on  all 
sides ;  and  then,  once  more,  Matuschevitz  was  besieged 
by  inquiries  anent  this  new  arriver  at  the  head-quar- 
ters and  capital  of  fox-hunting,  by  general  consent  of 
the  world  civilized  or  savage. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  can  tell  you  very  little  more 
about  him  than  I  have  told  already.  He  brought  me 
letters  from  Charles  de  Mornay,  and  from  our  embassy, 
the  Duchess  de  Dino  and  the  Vaudreuils  knew  him  in 
Paris,  and  Lord  Stuart  de  Rothesay  recommended  him 
to  Sefton  and  Hertford  ;  so  that  of  coui^se,  he  is  comme 
ilfaut.  I  think  he  has  got  letters  for  you  too,  duke," 
he  added,  turning  to  Beaufort.  ''  I  really  think  he 
will  be  an  acquisition  to  our  society.  He  is  young  and 
fresh,  without  being  in  the  least  raw;  enjoys  every 
thino;  without  beino;  boisterous,  and  is  fastidious  enous^h 
without  being  hlaze.  I  am  sure  he  is  good  humored, 
for  I  saw  him  lose  eight  thousand  the  other  night  to 
Dick  Mildmay  at  ecarte,  w^ithout  seeming  to  care 
whether  he  won  or  lost." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?" 

"  Upon  my  honor !  He  gave  his  check  for  it  on 
Coutts ;  and  as  Dick  had  not  seen  such  a  sight  for 
many  a  day,  he  took  a  cab  at  ten  o'clock,  and  they 
paid  it  without  looking  at  it." 

"Ah!"  said  Duncombc,  "that  comes  of  Hhc  colored 


2G  A  CLUB-ROOM. 

population,'  count.  A  tobacco  estate  or  a  sugar  plan- 
tation is  your  true  El  Dorado  now-a-days." 

*'  Can  he  ride  ?"  asked  Maglier. 

"  He  sits  his  hack  well  enough,  and  has  got  a  nice 
light  hand.  He  talks  modestly  enough  about  it 
though,  and  speaks  of  the  wild  Virginia  bush-hunting 
as  a  poor  school  for  Leicestershire.  But,  on  the  whole, 
I  think  he  will  go.  He  is  a  capital  judge  of  horse- 
flesh, and  does  not  stand  for  prices.  He  is  better 
mounted  than  I  am,  and  you  know  I  give  what  I  am 
asked." 

"Yes!  yes!  Are  you  horsed  by  Tilbury  this  year, 
or  do  you  ride  your  own  ?" 

"A  little  of  both.  I  have  twelve  of  my  own  and 
eighteen  of  his.  Mine  are  the  best,  though ;  yet  not 
quite  so  good  as  Fairfax's." 

"  We  must  call  upon  him,  I  suppose,"  said  several 
voices. 

"  Certainly.  Certainly.  By  what  Matuschevitz  says 
he  must  be  a  trump." 

"  Suppose  you  and  he  excuse  a  short  notice,  and 
dine  with  me  to-morrow,"  said  Cheshire,  on  whom  the 
loss  and  prompt  payment  of  the  eight  thousand  had 
made  some  impression.  "I  have  a  few  friends  of 
yours,  only  half  a  dozen  or  so  ;  George  Anson,  Beau- 
fort, Duncombe,  Alick  McDonald,  Forester,  and  Al- 
vanley.  Lady  Cheshire  sees  some  people  in  the 
evening,  and  it  may  amuse  your  friend  as  it  is  Sun- 
day and  a  blank  evening.  Mention  it  to  him,  and  I 
will  call  upon  him  in  the  morning  and  do  the  formal. 
What  say  you?" 

"  Oh,  for  myself,  that  I  shall  be  charmed.  For 
Fairfax,  of  course  I  can't  answer ;  but  I  am  sure  he 
has  no  engagement,  and  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  be 
delighted  to  make  his  debut  under  the  auspices  of 
such  Beaux  7/eux,  as  will  shine  upon  him  at  your 
table." 


A  CLUB-ROOM.  21 

"  I  consider  it  an  affair  finished,  as  tlie  French 
say,"  answered  Cheshire.  ^'And  in  the  meantime,  I 
shall  say  good-night,  for  it  has  grown  late  while  we 
have  been  talking  about  your  great  Virginian." 

"By  the  bye!  they  used  to  call  somehodj  tJiat, 
didn't  they?"  asked  Vauxhall.     "Who  was  it?" 

"  One  General  Washington,"  replied  Lambton, 
coolly. 

"  Oh,  yes !  so  it  was ;  that  '11  do  to  talk  to  him 
about." 

"  Admirably.  But  don't  say  any  thing  about  Boss 
to  him." 

"  Why  not  ?     Who  was  Boss  ?" 

"Why  he  ^6>o A;  Washington." 

"  The  devil  he  did.  Well,  you're  a  good  fellow, 
after  all,  to  tell  me  ;  for,  just  as  likely  as  not  I  should 
have  said  something  ;  and,  if  he  is  such  a  shot,  it 
would  be  a  bore  to  be  killed  for  a  blunder." 

"Much  worse  to  be  laughed  at,  hey,  Yaux?" 

"  I  believe  you." 

"  Why  yes,  as  to  that,  you're  like  the  eels." 

"What  eels?" 

"  Used  to  it,  you  know.  Ha !  ha !  Well,  good- 
night." 

"  Good-night,  every  body." 

So  they  parted. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  VIRGINIAN. 

Breakfast  was  over  in  the  snug  hunting-quarters 
of  Count  Matuschevitz  and  his  Virginian  friend,  al- 
though the  materials  had  not  yet  been  removed ;  and 
the  remnants  of  the  cold  grouse  pie,  the  rognons  au 
vin  de  madere,  the  omelette  aux  huitres,  the  chocolate 
pot,  and  the  two  empty  long-necks,  redolent  still  of 
the  bouquet  of  chateau  margaux,  still  spoke  volumes 
for  the  nature  of  the  feed  which  had  been  set  before 
the  representatives  of  the  two  most  opposite  powers, 
the  greatest  despotism  and  the  only  republic  of  the 
modern  world.  It  was  a  calm,  soft,  genial  morning, 
such  as  is  rarely  seen  in  England  during  the  dull  and 
depressing  month  of  December — the  month  par  excel- 
lence of  mist  and  melancholy,  suicide  and  snow-squalls 
— with  a  sun  shining  warmly  through  the  fleecy  va- 
pors which  partially  veiled  his  lustre ;  and  a  breath 
of  south-westerly  wind,  that  fanned  the  brow  and  re- 
galed the  senses,  like  the  first  sigh  of  spring-time. 
So  grateful,  indeed,  was  the  weather,  and  so  agreeable 
this  lingering  of  a  gentler  season  into  the  very  lap  of 
winter,  that  one  of  the  windows  of  the  breakfast-room 
was  left  open,  and  that  the  friends  sat  on  the  broad, 
soft  cushions,  with  which  the  window-seat  was  spread, 
gazing  out  into  the  unpaved  yellow  road,  along  which 
the  mingled  groups  of  peasantry  and  gentry  were  re- 
turning from  the  little  village  church,  morning  service 
just  ended. 

The  Russian  minister  has  been  introduced  already ; 
his  comrade,  Colonel  Fairfax,  was  a  much  taller  and 
(28) 


A  VIRGINIAN.  29 

more  manly-looking  person  ;  indeed,  he  was  consider- 
ably above  the  average  height  of  men,  and  was  built 
in  proportion,  with  broad  shoulders,  a  deep,  round 
chest,  thin  flanks,  and  limbs  of  singular  symmetry 
and  grace. 

His  face  was  rather  expressive  than  handsome,  al- 
though the  features  were  well-cut,  regular,  and 
shapely ;  and  it  would  not  have  been  easy,  even  for  a 
practical  physiognomist,  to  say  whether  the  expres- 
sion was  pleasing  or  the  reverse. 

The  brow  was  broad  and  well  developed,  and  the 
dark  brown  hair,  which  clustered  over  it  in  rich,  loose 
waves,  was  silky  and  luxuriant ;  but  there  was  some- 
thing like  an  habitual  frown,  of  gloom  or  discontent, 
it  would  seem,  rather  than  of  temper,  which  kept  the 
face  continually  ruffled.  His  eyes  were  well  opened, 
dark  and  lustrous,  but  there  was  at  times  a  quick  and 
fiery  light  in  those  clear  orbs,  that  told  a  strange  tale 
to  the  wary  observer,  of  fierce  dormant  passions,  kept 
at  rest  only  by  a  resolute  and  energetic  will.  There 
were  some  lines,  too,  from  the  angles  of  the  nostril 
downward,  though  these  were  partially  concealed  by  a 
long  upturned  hussar  moustache,  which  it  was  clear  to 
see  could  easily  degenerate  into  a  sneer.  The  lips 
were  thin,  and  in  their  ordinary  state,  compressed  so 
firmly  as  to  indicate  a  character  of  indomitable  force 
and  firmness ;  a  character  which  was  in  no  sort  belied 
by  the  bold  and  square-cut  outlines  of  the  chin,  par- 
tially shaded  as  it  was  by  a  long,  soft  imperial  a  V 
Henri  Quatre.  His  complexion  was  singularly  dark 
for  an  European,  or  one  of  European  descent,  but  per- 
fectly clear  and  free  from  swarthiness,  or  the  imputa- 
tion of  arising  from  any  admixture  of  blood. 

On  the  whole,  while  his  features  were  at  rest,  though 
no  one  could  have  failed  to  pronounce  him  a  good- 
looking,  perhaps  even  a  handsome  man,  no  one  would 
have  thought  of  calling  him  attractive  or  pleasing ; 


30  A  VIRGINIAN. 

tliat  he  possessed  intellect  in  an  unusual  degree  would 
hardly  be  doubted,  but  the  perusal  of  his  features  sug- 
gested more  than  a  doubt  as  to  whether  that  intellect 
were  not  hard,  and  keen,  and  dry,  as  well  as  subtle 
and  pervading,  whether  it  would  not  in  all  probability 
lean  rather  to  the  stern  realities  of  necessity  and  na- 
ture, than  to  "the  soft  side  of  the  heart"  in  "  which 
the  affections  are."  Certainly  he  was  not  the  man  to 
whom  an  innocent  child  would  come  up  spontaneously 
to  seek  acquaintance ;  or  on  whose  knee  a  dog  would 
be  likely  to  lay  its  head,  craving  a  caress,  uninvited. 
Still,  when  he  smiled,  the  whole  of  the  dark,  gloomy 
face  lighted  up,  as  if  by  magic,  for  that  smile  was  no 
less  benignant  than  it  was  ineffably  bright,  imagina- 
tive and  cheery. 

In  short,  grave  and  animated,  he  was  two  different 
beings.  In  his  fits  of  gloom  and  abstraction  you 
might  have  taken  him  for  the  gloomy  and  jealous  Lu- 
cifer of  Paradise  Lost.  Animated  and  joyous,  you 
might  have  deemed  him  a  seraph  of  love  and  mercy. 

At  the  moment  of  our  glancing  at  him  for  the  first 
time,  however,  there  was  nothing  especially  seraphic 
either  in  his  aspect  or  employment ;  for  he  was  loung- 
ing on  the  divan  which  we  have  described,  completely 
dressed,  in  a  close-fitting  waistcoat  and  very  tight 
trousers  of  black  cloth,  setting  gaiter-wise  over  a  pair 
of  patent-leather  boots,  the  whole  turn  out  a  good  deal 
too  elaborate  for  the  English  idea  of  a  gentleman's 
morning  garb,  in  the  country  more  especially.  He 
had  a  voluminous  black  silk  scarf  fastened  with  two 
large  pearl  pins  about  his  neck  ;  a  rich  brocade  dress- 
ing-gown, and  an  Algerine  fez  to  answer  the  purpose 
of  a  smoking  cap  upon  his  head. 

Thus  got  up,  as  we  have  said,  rather  too  extensively 
for  Melton  Mowbray,  he  had  lounged  for  nearly  an 
hour,  languidly  and  carelessly  inhaling  the  fumes  of  a 
great  chibouque,  the  bowl  of  which  rested  on  the  car- 


A  VIRGINIAN.  31 

pet,  looking  out  of  the  window  as  earnestly  as  if  lie 
was  noting  every  thing  that  passed  by,  but  without 
uttering  one  word  to  his  friend,  who  was  deeply  enga- 
ged in  an  article  of  the  Edinburg  Review,  on  the 
treaty  of  Unkiar  SJcelessi,  and  the  policy  of  Russia. 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  a  servant  out 
of  livery  came  in,  bearing  two  notes  and  as  many  vis- 
iting cards  upon  a  silver  waiter,  which  he  tendered 
first  to  Fairfax  and  then  to  his  master. 

"Ah  !  just  so,"  exclaimed  Matuschevitz, "  Cheshire's 
visiting  cards,  and  begs  me  to  apologize  to  you  for 
short  notice,  and  so  forth,  but  trusts  you  will  excuse 
want  of  formality  from  consideration  of  desire  to  make 
your  acquaintance — my  lady  wrote  that  note,  I'll  be 
sworn  ;  Chess  couldn't  have  managed  that  to  save  his 
life.  Yours  is  of  course  the  regular  thing.  Yes,  I 
see." 

"  The  Earl  and  Countess  of  Cheshire  request  the 
honor  of  Col.  Fairfax's  company  to  dinner  on  Sunday, 
19th,  at  eight  o'clock. 

R.  S.  V.  P." 

"  Well,  take  your  pen,  colonel,  and  indite — happy 
to  do  yourself  the  honor,  and  so  forth  ;  what  are  you 
looking  so  gloomy  about,  one  would  think  you  weie 
invited  to  fight,  not  to  dine?" 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  count,  I  had  about  as  soon 
do  the  one  as  the  other ;  but  I  suppose  the  thing  is 
unavoidable,  and  that  I  cannot  in  ordinary  decorum 
shun  it  if  I  would." 

"  Of  course,  you  cannot ;  and  why  should  you  ? 
You  did  not  come  to  Melton  to  live  like  a  hermit,  I 
suppose." 

*'No,  I  came  to  hunt,"  replied  Fairfax,  somewhat 
ungraciously,  "  but  as  this  has  occurred,  I'll  prepare 
the  answer." 


32  A  VIRGINIAN. 

"  Is  Lord  ChesMre's  man  waiting,  Langton  V"  asked 
the  count ;  "  Ah  !  exactly,"  he  continued,  as  the  man 
answered  in  the  affirmative,  "  then  reach  me  the  wri- 
ting things,  I'll  write  a  line  too." 

And  by  the  time  Fairfax  had  completed  his  elabo- 
rate and  formal  billet,  the  count  had  scrawled  ten  lines 
and  sealed  them,  and  the  companions  were  again  left 
alone. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  heaven,  my  dear  fellow,  can 
be  your  dislike  to  dining  at  Cheshire's  ?  You  will  meet 
all  the  best  fellows  here  at  his  table,  not  to  say  two  of 
the  most  beautiful  women  in  England.  No  one  gives 
better  feeds — what  can  it  be?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  tell  me  what  sort  of  person  is 
this  Cheshire?" 

"  Oh  !  very  much  like  other  people — like  other  men 
of  fashion,  I  mean ;  no  saint,  of  course ;  but  no 
greater  sinner  than  his  neighbors.  He  is  very  well 
bred  to  people  to  whom  he  chooses  to  be  well  bred ; 
very  good  humored  when  he  is  pleased ;  he  plays  high ; 
rides  pretty  well ;  and  is  as  agreeable  when  he  holds 
his  tongue,  as  at  any  other  time  ;  nature  certainly  did 
not  endow  him  too  liberally  with  brains ;  and,  for  all 
his  Eton  education,  I  do  not  think  that  he  has  assisted 
nature  much." 

"Just  as  I  expected,"  answered  Fairfax;  "except 
that  you  look  at  him,  or  at  least  depict  him  as  you  do 
every  thing  and  every  body,  couleur  de  rose.  1  be- 
lieve this  Cheshire  to  be  the  most  heartless,  brainless, 
soulless  voluptuary  that  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life — 
no  kind,  no  generous,  no  feeling  action  is  recorded  of 
him.  An  insolent,  ungenerous,  overbearing  aristocrat ; 
unscrupulous  with  men,  faithless  and  false  with  women. 
If  he  be  honorable  in  his  play  and  turf  transactions,  it 
is  because  he  lacks  the  temptation  to  be  otherwise. 
No  one  who  knows  his  conduct  to  women,  can  doubt 
how  he  would  behave  to  men  if  he  dar^.  or  if  it  were 


A  VIRGINIAN.  33 

Lis  interest  to  behave  ill.  I  hate  to  consort  with  such 
a  man,  even  casually." 

"  Yet  you  must  do  so,  or  if  you  do  not,  you  must 
live  in  absolute  seclusion.  You  can  go  no  -where  with- 
out meeting  him  ;  and  if  no  one — which  I  suppose  no 
one  does — esteem  him  au  fond  very  deeply,  still  he 
is  hand-in-glove  with  every  one ;  and  there  is  not  a 
pleasanter  house  than  his  in  Melton,  or  in  May  Fair." 

"All  very  true,  I  dare  say,"  replied  Fairfax,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders,  a  la  mode  de  France;  "still  I 
don't  like  it.  Four  men  here  I  have  resolved  to  avoid 
as  much  as  I  can,  in  consequence  of  what  I  have 
learned  of  their  characters  since  I  have  been  in  Eng- 
land ;  and  though  I  shall,  of  course,  be  civil  when  I 
do  meet  them,  I  shall  avoid  meeting  them  as  far  as  in 
me  lies." 

"  And  who  may  be  the  four  ?" 

"  Your  friend,  Lord  Cheshire,  Henry  de  R*,  Lord 
Jardinier,  and  Bellamy.     I'll  none  of  them." 

"  Pardon  me,  Colonel  Fairfax,  if  I  speak  to  you 
plainly ;  you  know  that  I  cannot  mean  to  offend  you, 
and  that  I  have  seen  much  more  of  English  society  than 
you  have.  There  is  nothing  which  is  held  in  such  con- 
tempt and  ridicule  here,  among  the  three  hundred  peo- 
ple who  constitute  the  worlds  as  the  affecting  to  be 
better  than  your  neighbors,  to  take  up  the  part  of  the 
Quixotic  reformer,  and  to  attempt  to  put  down  things 
or  persons  in  accordance  with  your  own  opinion,  and 
not  with  the  dictates  of  society.  To  eschew  a  man 
markedly  on  account  of  those  petty,  if  paltry,  vices, 
which,  though  contemptible  and  odious,  do  not  come 
fairly  before  the  tribunal  of  the  public,  is  to  attack 
the  public  itself;  and  any  attempt  at  dictation  of  that 
kind  the  public  will  resent  and  punish.  If  you  avoid 
Jardinier  and  Bellamy,  for  instance,  even  to  dropping 
their  acquaintance  quietly^  that  is  one  thing.  The 
temper  of  both  those  men  is  overbearing  and  detesta- 
171 


34  A  VIRGINIAN. 

ble,  and  it  is  your  concern,  whether  your  associates 
are  pleasant  and  good  temjiered  or  no.  To  exhibit 
any  marked  avoidance  on  the  other  hand  of  De  R* 
and  Cheshire,  because  of  vices  which  cannot  directly 
interfere  with  you,  is  to  meddle  with  what  is  not 
your  concern.  If  a  man  cheats  at  cards,  refuses  his 
debts  of  honor,  suflfers  his  nose  to  be  pulled,  or  does 
any  other  overt  act,  for  this,  society  will  cut  him  in 
an  instant,  if  he  were  their  nearest  and  dearest  friend. 
And  the  same  of  a  woman  who  commits  a  faux  pas 
avowedly,  and  runs  away  from,  or  is  divorced  by,  her 
husband.  Men  who  are  merely  stingy,  selfish,  heart- 
less, or  fools,  and  women  who  flirt,  coquette  to  the  ut- 
most limit  of  opinion,  they  may  despise  and  laugh  at, 
but  they  will  not  cut ;  and  rightly,  for  such  things  be- 
ing matters  of  opinion  and  of  rumor  ma7/  be  contemned, 
but  must  not  be,  and  ought  7iot  to  be  punished. 
Therefore,  as  a  friend,  I  would  advise  you,  my  dear 
colonel,  to  avoid  setting  yourself  up  for  a  reformer  or 
revolutionizer  on  your  first  debut.  They  would  not 
stand  it  from  one  of  themselves,  much  less  from  a  for- 
eigner ;  and  to  receive  the  soubriquet  of  the  Virginia 
Quixote  would  be  a  blow  which  you  never  would  re- 
cover." 

"  I  believe  you  are  in  the  right,  count,"  said  Fairfax, 
laughing,  "  and,  at  all  events,  right  or  wrong,  I  will 
take  your  advice.  Still,  such  characters  as  that  I 
have  heard  ascribed  to  this  man  particularly,  are  most 
odious  to  me.  I  hear  he  takes  positive  pleasure  in 
slighting  and  giving  actual  pain  to  young  men  or 
girls  just  coming  out,  as  noble  as  himself,  but  not  yet 
established  by  the  caprice  of  fashion.  That  he  is  ha- 
bitually rude  and  haughty  to  subordinates  and  inferi- 
ors, and  worst  of  all,  that,  vicious,  a  voluptuary,  and 
a  gambler  himself,  he  spares  no  pains  to  make  every 
one  with  whom  he  associates  as  hard,  and  cold,  and 
selfish,  as  cruel  and  as  base  as  he  is  himself.     It  will 


A  VIRGINIAN.  35 

be  hard  work  for  me  to  keep  up  the  common  show  of 
civility  toward  him." 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  so  straight-laced,  colo- 
nel," replied  Matuschevitz,  laughing;  "  and  paidon 
me,  if  I  say  that  I  do  not  think  your  practice  agrees 
altogether  with  your  principles." 

"Who,  I  straight-laced?"  exclaimed  the  Virginian, 
starting  to  his  feet.  "  Not  the  least  bit  of  it,  I  assure 
you,  count.  On  the  contrary,  if  there  be  one  thing  on 
earth  that  I  do  most  cordially  and  utterly  detest,  it  ia 
the  hypocrite.  I,  heaven  knows  !  I  have  no  claim  to 
superior  virtue  ;  I  drink  sometimes,  I  play  sometimes 
— and  both  of  them  more  than  is  either  wise  or  good ; 
I  make  love  very  often — almost  as  often  as  I  see  a 
very  pretty  or  a  very  piquante  woman.  I  dare  say  I 
do  all  sorts  of  bad  things,  sometimes  ;  but  what  I  mean 
to  say  is,  that  I  do  not  make  such  things  the  rule  and 
object  of  my  life — that  if  I  do  such  things  at  all,  I  do 
them  from  impulse,  not  from  calculation,  and  am  very 
sorry  for  them  afterward.  For  the  rest,  if  I  da 
wrongly  myself,  I  had  rather  cut  oflf  my  right  hand 
than  induce  another  to  do  likewise." 

"  I  believe  you,  my  dear  fellow,  entirely  ;  and  I 
think  as  you  do  myself.  I  have  no  respect  whatever, 
nor  regard  for  such  characters  as  Cheshire  myself; 
nor  do  I  lead  him  to  suppose  I  have ;  but  I  treat  him, 
when  I  meet  him  in  society,  as  one  gentleman  is  ex- 
pected to  treat  another.  I  go  to  his  house  because  I 
meet  every  body  that  I  know,  and  many  persons  whom 
I  value  there  ;  and  I  ask  him  to  mine  in  return,  be- 
cause I  am  expected  so  to  do,  and  because  some  sac- 
rifice of  our  own  prejudices  is  due  to  society.  But 
enough  of  this  for  the  present.  It  has  got  to  be  three 
o'clock  while  we  are  talking  morals  ;  suppose  we  have 
some  luncheon,  and  then  walk  down  to  the  stables  and 
take  a  look  at  the  horses." 


86  A  VIRGINIAN. 

"  I'm  agreed — but  I  don't  care  mucli  about  lun- 
cheon." 

"  We  don't  dine  till  eight,  remember,  and  Cheshire's 
eight  is  very  certain  to  be  nine." 

"Well,  as  far  as  some  oysters  and  a  glass  of  Cha- 
blis,  I  don't  mind." 

The  bell  was  speedily  rung,  the  breakfast  things  re- 
moved, and  the  natives  on  the  shell,  with  no  condi- 
ment save  simple  lemon  juice,  and  the  ice-pail,  with 
the  long-neck  protruding,  took  their  place. 

Meantime,  the  friends  retired  to  complete  their  rig, 
and  in  ten  minutes  made  their  appearance  again  be- 
low ;  Fairfax  having  replaced  his  dressing-gown  with 
a  most  elaborate  French  black  frock,  with  a  glossy  hat 
of  the  most  extreme  ton,  lemon  kid  gloves,  and  a  cane 
with  a  great  emerald  at  the  top  of  it.  Matuschevitz, 
more  au  fait  to  the  Melton  style,  wore  a  dark  brown 
Newmarket  coat  with  Good-wood  club  buttons,  shep- 
herd's plaid  trousers,  and  a  shawl  waistcoat,  with  a 
blue  bird's  eye  round  his  neck,  doeskin  gloves  on  his 
hands,  and  a  heavy  jockey-whip  under  his  arm. 

At  any  time  an  English  country  town  or  village  is 
a  pleasing  or  interesting  sight,  but  Melton  Mowbray 
is  much  more  than  this,  it  is  a  curious,  a  singular,  an 
unique  sight,  for  Melton  Mowbray  is  a  capital;  yes, 
gentle  reader,  as  distinctly  a  capital  as  London  or 
Paris,  Washington  or  St.  Petersburgh ;  Melton  Mow- 
bray and  New  Market,  two  purely  English,  siii  generis, 
capitals  ;  the  one  of  fox-hunting,  the  other  of  racing 
— each  with  its  ministry,  officials,  senate,  representa- 
tives, its  every  article,  point,  device,  which  constitutes 
an  imperium  in  imperio.  Time  was,  until  James  and 
Charles  the  First,  the  one  of  evil,  and  the  other  of 
unhappy  memory,  betook  themselves  to  deer-hunting 
and  racing.  New  Market  was  but  a  petty  village  in  the 
midst  of  Chalky  Wolds,  distinguished  only  by  the 
dykes    and    ditches — since   nicknamed  of   the  devil 


A  VIRGINIAN.  37 

— extant  to  this  day,  and  still  almost  inaccessible,  by 
which  Boadicea  and  her  brave  Iceni  strove  to  repef 
the  brazen  infantry  of  the  first  C^sars. 

Time  was,  when  the  grandsires  of  the  now  rising 
generationj  the  grandsires  of  Young  England  were  in 
the  prime  of  manhood,  that  Melton  Mowbray  was  but» 
a  humble  country  town,  though  the  centre  of  the' 
greatest  hunting  country  the  wide  world  has  ever  wit- 
nessed. 

In  those  days  fox  hunting  was  a  rude  and  barba- 
rous sport.  Fox-hunters  rose  in  the  dead  of  the  night 
to  meet  at  the  covert-side  by  daylight,  and  trail  the 
fox  to  his  lair,  and  thence  rouse  him.  They  hunted 
with  huge,  long-eared,  slow,  crook-kneed,  dew-lapped 
hounds  ;  they  rode  short-barreled,  short-backed,  ac- 
tive half-bred  cobs.  They  found  their  fox  at  sunrise, 
and,  if  they  were  very  fortunate,  killed  him  about  sun- 
set. Now,  all  is  changed.  Fox-hunting  is  a  science  ; 
the  feeding,  the  physicking,  the  exercising,  the  break- 
ing of  the  hounds,  the  wintering,  the  summering,  the 
conditioning  the  hunters,  is  a  matter  of  as  deep  lore, 
of  as  much  difficult  indoctrination,  as  the  training  of 
a  racer  for  four  mile  heats,  or  preparing  a  man  for  a 
prize-fight  or  a  foot-race. 

The  men  who  do  the  thing,  too,  are  no  less  changed 
than  the  thing  itself. 

Then  it  was,  the  Squires  Westerns — the  muddy- 
beer  drinking,  bad-tobacco  smoking,  ignorant,  illite- 
rate blockheads,  who  never  visited  cities.,  nor  thought 
of  decencies  or  decorums.  Now  it  is  the  cream  of  the 
first  men  of  the  first  society  in  the  world,  for  manhood 
and  cultivation,  Saxon  hardihood  and  Norman  chiv- 
alry, aristocratic  refinements  and  popular  simplicity 
combined. 

And  of  these  characteristics  Melton  shows  the  type. 
It  is  still  a  country  town — during  the  summer  season, 
nothing  but  the  merest  of  country  towns — in  shops,  in 


38  A  VIRGINIAN. 

public  buildings,  in  any  thing  belonging  solely  to  it- 
self* unequal  to  any  village  of  five  hundred  inhabi- 
tants in  the  United  States.  Yet  it  is  filled  with  villas, 
empty  for  one  half  the  year,  redolent  of  every  luxury, 
overflowing  with  every  comfort  during  the  other  half; 
built  up  with  lines  of  stables,  more  solid  than  our 
most  massive  warehouses,  handsomer,  and  better  fin- 
ished within  than  most  of  our  country  churches,  capa- 
ble of  containing  the  horses  to  mount  ten  regiments 
of  cavalry. 

On  an  average  a  hundred  gentlemen  would  turn  out 
in  those  days,  in  scarlet,  white  leathers  and  top-boots, 
six  days  in  the  week  from  Melton  Mowbray ;  and  with 
a  less  stud  than  twenty-five  or  thirty  horses  no  man 
could  do  that. 

No  one  could  dream  of  riding  to  the  Quorn  without 
two  horses  daily  in  the  field;  the  second  ridden  by  a 
light  boy,  with  a  quick  eye  and  good  judgment,  hov- 
ering on  the  outskirts  of  the  run,  riding  the  chords  of 
arcs  and  hypothenuses  of  triangles,  and  ready  at  a 
moment's  notice  to  remount  his  master,  in  case  of  ac- 
cidents or  emergency. 

No  horse,  not  the  best  that  ever  trod  on  a  shodden 
hoof,  can  come  again  above  three  times  in  a  fortnight, 
very  few  above  twice  ;  and  therefore  taking  casualties, 
coughs,  lameness,  and  sometimes  deaths,  into  account, 
no  man  can  hope  to  hunt  every  day  at  Melton,  during 
the  season,  without  at  least  twenty-five — scarcely  with- 
out thirty  horses  in  his  stable. 

To  every  five  horses  one  man  and  two  boys  are  al- 
lowed ;  besides  a  stud-groom  to  each  stable,  a  man  in 
his  way  and  line  no  less  important  or  esteemed  than 
John  Scott,  the  great  English,  or  Sam  Laird,  the 
great  American  trainer,  to  overlook  and  be  answera- 
ble for  the  whole. 

The  whole  array  cannot  be  counted  at  less  than 
twenty  men  and  thirty  horses,  for  the  field  work  of 


A  VIRGINIAN.  39 

every  gentleman  who  hunts  regularly  at  Melton  Mow- 
bray ;  besides  which,  half  of  them  bring  their  families 
along,  beautiful  wives,  accomplished  sisters,  French 
soubrettes,  English  nursery-maids,  men  cooks  and  va- 
lets, persons  far  more  important  than  their  masters, 
in  their  own  eyes,  and  those  of  the  gazing  rustics. 

During  one  half  the  year,  so  utterly  deserted,  that 
in  a  walk  through  its  main  street  you  shall  not  meet 
one  man  in  five  who  can  do  much  more  than  write  his 
name ;  during  the  other  six  months,  two  men  out  of 
every  three  you  meet  will  be  of  noble  birth,  every 
fourth  a  baronet,  and  one  in  six  a  peer  of  a  realm — 
three  thousand  hunters,  worth,  taken  en  masse,  not 
less  than  £350,000  sterling— §1,750,000— and  two 
thousand  stable  followers. 

Conceive  this  in  a  town  not  half  so  big,  nor  one- 
tenth  part  as  pretty  as  Springfield  or  Newhaven. 

Of  a  truth,  if  Melton  Mowbray  be  not  a  capital, 
and  one  of  the  most  wondrous  that  ever  has  been 
seen  in  this  world,  we  should  rejoice  to  know  what 
were  one. 

Some  such  thoughts  as  these,  I  presume,  had  been 
wandering  vaguely  through  the  head  of  Percy  Fair- 
fax, as  he  walked  silently  down  a  bye-street,  into 
which  they  had  turned  instantly  on  leaving  their  own 
door,  leading  to  the  open  country,  and  the  exercising 
grounds  immediately  about  the  town,  in  the  suburbs 
of  which  stand  the  stables. 

For  some  time  they  met  no  persons  of  their  own 
rank,  but  scores  of  neatly-dressed,  knee-breechesed 
and  top-booted,  or  kerseymere-gaitered  men,  with 
smooth-shaved  faces,  and  short-cropped  hair,  whom 
you  could  have  sworn,  whether  you  had  met  them  in 
Texas  or  Caifraria,  on  Mont-Blanc  or  the  summits  of 
the  Himmalaya,  to  be  English  grooms,  every  one  of 
whom  smirked  and  nodded,  and  pulled  his  top-knot 
down  over  his  forehead  in  gnostic  greeting  to  the  Rus- 


40  A  VIRGINIAN. 

sian  coimtj  of  whose  name  they  made  most  unuttera- 
ble havoc. 

Mcituschevitz,  it  may  not  be  denied,  watched  his 
friend  closely,  and  he  certainly  did  fancy  that  he  could 
trace  something  of  secret  wonder  and  admiration  con- 
cealed beneath  an  exterior  which  he  set  down  as  a 
mixture  of  Mohawk  impassibility  of  feature,  and  Par- 
isian nil  admirari. 

"  Upon  my  conscience,"  said  the  American  at 
length,  "these  English  are  an  astonishing  people." 

"  True,  gallant  colonel,"  replied  Matuschevitz, 
laughing.  ''  But  since  when  have  you  discovered  the 
fact,  or  what  now  moves  your  admiration?" 

"It  is  not  admiration,"  answered  Percy  gravely, 
"  but  astonishment.  Though  after  all  there  is  some- 
thing almost  admirable  in  the  method  and  regularity 
of  all  this.  But  to  think  that  all  these  men,  the  rich- 
est in  this  land  of  riches,  should  annually  leave  their 
own  demesnes,  each  larger  than  a  German  principal- 
ity, their  country-houses  more  magnificent  than  an 
Italian  palazzo,  to  come  and  winter  in  little  cottages 
at  which  a  New  York  merchant  would  turn  up  his 
nose,  while  they  lodge  their  horses  in  stables  and 
their  hounds  in  kennels  equal  to  foreign  palaces  !" 

"  There  is  something  in  what  you  say,  colonel. 
Whatever  an  Englishman  thinks  it  worth  while  to  do 
at  all,  he  thinks  it  worth  while  to  do  well.  Field 
sports  are  the  natural  taste  of  every  Englishman, 
from  a  peer  of  the  realm  to  the  cadger  in  his  cart,  or 
the  tailor  on  his  shop-board ;  and  whatever  science 
can  effect,  experience  substantiate,  or  wealth  procure, 
that  is  brought  to  bear  upon  the  pursuit.  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying,  Fairfax,  that  there  are  a  hun- 
dred stud-grooms,  farriers,  veterinary  surgeons  and  the 
like,  who  have  devoted  more  time  to  the  anatomical 
and  physical  study  of  their  patients,  the  dog  and 
horse ;  who  understand  their  diseases  better,  and  reap 


A  VIRGINIAN.  41 

a  larger  profit  from  attending  them,  in  this  little  coun- 
try town,  than  the  majority  of  your  country  practi- 
tioners in  the  United  States  have  done,  or  do,  in  re- 
gard to  their  human  clients." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,  count,"  said  Fairfax,  with  a 
smile.  "I  can't  say  much  for  the  scientific  attain- 
ments, or  the  profits  either  of  a  Yankee  country  doc- 
tor. But  how  the  deuce  do  you  know  so  much  about 
our  internal  life  and  habits  !  you,  who  say  you  have 
never  crossed  the  Atlantic,  although  sometimes  I 
doubt  it?" 

"Ah!  cest  mon  metier  ca,''  answered  Matusche- 
vitz.     "  We  diplomats  are  cense  to  know  every  thing." 

"  Upon  my  life  !  I  believe  you  Russians  do  know 
every  thing.  Are  you  sure  count,  that  you  are  not 
born  knowing  every  thing  ?  But  who  are  these  two 
coming  to  meet  us  ?     I  suppose  you  know  that." 

"  I  rather  suppose  I  do.  Wait  a  moment,  however, 
and  you  will  know  also." 

The  two  who  were  approaching,  though  two,  were 
by  no  means  a  pair ;  for  they  were  as  dissimilar  in 
character  as  in  stature  and  appearance. 

He  to  the  right  was  a  middle-sized  man  at  that 
time  of  some  twenty-eight  or  thirty  years,  rather 
thickly-set  than  otherwise,  and  with  some  early  symp- 
toms of  a  tendency  to  run  to  fat.  His  face  was  full 
and  florid ;  and,  though  his  features  were  very  regular 
and  his  profile  decidedly  handsome,  there  was  such  an 
expression  of  listless,  languid  superciliousness,  and 
such  an  insipidity  in  the  lack-lustre  eye,  that  the  tout 
ensemble  was  any  thing  but  agreeable.  He  had  a  pro- 
fusion of  light  auburn — in  many  persons  it  would  be 
called  red — curly  hair,  on  top  of  which  his  hat  was 
set  very  jauntily  aside.  He  wore  a  broad-checked  red 
and  white  batiste  cravat,  a  claret-colored  cut-away, 
into  the  left  hand  skirt  pocket  of  which  he  had  thrust 
his  hand,  holding  a  silver-mounted  riding-whip,  so  a£ 


42  A  VIRGmiAJT. 

to  bring  the  tail  over  upon  his  hip,  a  canary-colored 
waistcoat,  and  drab  riding-trousers  fitting  as  close  as 
his  skin. 

If  he  had  been,  as  from  his  appearance  and  air  he 
well  might,  a  west-end  shopman  doing  the  genteel,  or 
a  sporting  stock-broker  cutting  it  fat,  he  would  have 
been  voted  by  every  one  who  saw  him,  what  he  really 
was,  a  disagreeable,  over-done  snob,  and  a  most  insuf- 
ferably vulgar  puppy.  But  as  he  was  a  very  rich, 
and  very-long-descended  earl,  none  of  whose  ancestors 
had  in  the  least  resembled  their  descendant,  he  was 
the  fashion,  and  the  bad  exemplar  of  the  dissolute  of 
Young  England. 

The  gentleman  who  walked  beside  him  was  taller 
by  a  head,  admirably  well  proportioned,  and  as  fine  a 
specimen  of  an  English  nobleman  as  ever  gladdened 
the  eyes  of  bluff  King  Harry,  or  his  man-minded 
daughter,  Royal  Bess,  of  both  whom  it  is  recorded 
that  they  loved  to  look  upon  the  thewes  and  sinews  of 
a  man. 

His  features  were  as  fine,  as  noble,  and  as  hand- 
some as  his  person  and  his  mien  ;  and  his  expression 
the  openest,  the  kindest,  and  the  most  unaffected 
that  ever  encouraged  an  inferior  to  present  his  suit 
with  confidence. 

Whereas  the  other,  despite  his  insufferable  air  of 
pride,  affectation  and  superciliousness,  despite  his 
flashy  clothes  and  jaunty  air,  could  hardly  be  mis- 
taken for  a  gentleman,  this  one  had  such  an  air  of  in- 
born natural  aristocracy  that,  despite  the  plain,  good- 
humored  simplicity  of  his  address,  even  had  he  been 
disguised  in  the  meanest  and  most  clownish  garb,  no 
one  could  doubt  for  a  moment,  that  he  stood  in  the 
presence  of  a  nobleman. 

""  Ah,  Matuschevitz,  how  do?" 

"  How  are  you,  count  ?" 

^'Well,  Ches — Good  morning  to  you,  duke.     Let 


A  VIRGINIAN.  43 

me  make  you  know  Colonel  Fairfax.  Colonel,  the 
Duke  of  Beaufort,  Lord  Cbeshire." 

''I  thought  as  much,"  thought  Fairfax  within  him- 
self, but  he  said  nothing,  only  bowed  and  touched  his 
hat,  without  shaking  hands  a  V  Americaine." 

"  A-h — Colonel  Fairfax — charmed— a-h.  Had  the 
pleasure — a-a-h — to  send  my  card  this  morning — a-h. 
Happy  to  have  the  honor,  a-h — dinner  at  eight — yes 
— Lady  Cheshire — a-h." 

Very  different  was  the  greeting  of  the  Duke,  who, 
when  the  peer  had  got  through  with  his  stultified  St. 
James  Street  a-ahing,  offered  his  hand  frankly. 

"  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  of  you  before, 
Colonel  Fairfax.  Rothesay  wrote  to  me  about  you. 
I  believe  you  have  a  letter  for  me  from  our  mutual 
friend  Talleyrand.  Delighted  you  have  come  to  see 
us  here ;  this  is  the  place  of  all  others  for  a  foreigner 
to  see,  who  wishes  to  see  what  is  most  worth  seeing, 
most  peculiar,  in  us  English — this  and  New  Market. 
On  the  Continent  you  will  find  a  thousand  things  as 
fine  as  any  we  can  show  you,  some  perhaps  finer, 
palaces,  pictures,  architecture,  armies — but  the  world 
has  but  one  New  Market,  but  one  Melton  Mow- 
bray." 

"  I  was  making  nearly  the  same  observation  to 
Count  Matuschevitz,  just  as  we  met  you,  sir.  In 
England  you  make  your  rudest  sports,  many  of  our 
republican  sovereigns  would  call  them  toils,  into  a 
luxury." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  think,  on  further  trial,  that 
ive  make  our  luxuries  a  toil.  Our  mediseurs  do  charge 
us,  I  believe,  with  something  of  the  kind.  But  which 
way  are  you  bound?" 

"  We  are  going  to  the  stables  to  inspect  the  cattle 
and  make  arrangements  for  to-morrow." 

*'Are  your  stables  mysterious,  or  visible  to  th& 
uninitiated?" 


44  A  VIKGINIAN. 

"  Exceedingly  visible,  I  assure  you.  Pray  come 
along,  if  you  have  no  better  way  of  killing  the  time 
before  dinner." 

"  No  better  way  in  the  world." 

"  Let  us  go  then.  It  is  not  a  hundred  yards,  and 
I  have  got  some  things  I  am  not  ashamed  to  show 
you,  particularly  a  pair  of  very  fast  New  York 
trotters." 

"Very  fast?" 

"Yes.     Three  minutes  together." 

'^  Andiamo.'' 

And  therewith  they  went. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  HUNTING  STABLE. 

Less  than  five  minutes  walking  brouglit  the  party 
to  the  door  of  the  stables,  which,  unvisited  as  yet  by 
Percy  Fairfax,  contained  the  gallant  horses  on  which 
he  was  to  make  his  debut,  on  the  following  day,  before 
the  great  convention  of  the  best  sportsmen  in  all  Eng- 
land. He  had  never  as  yet  ridden  once  to  English 
fox-hounds,  and  every  one  who  has  ever  seen  the  two 
knows  how  widely  different  is  that  glorious  sport,  as 
pursued  in  Virginia  and  some  of  the  southern  states 
of  North  America,  and  as  performed  even  in  the  pro- 
vincial countries  of  England,  much  more  at  the  very 
metropolis  of  fox-hunting,  Melton  Mowbray. 

In  the  latter,  no  fields  less  than  forty  acres,  smooth 
as  a  Turkey  carpet,  without  a  bush  or  brake  to  stint 
the  rattling  gallop  of  the  thorough-breds,  nothing  less 
than  which  can  live  behind  the  racing,  high-drawn, 
fine-bred  modern  fox-hounds;  old  white-thorn  fences 
with  double  rails  and  ditches,  insuperable  obstacles  to 
any  thing  short  of  the  indomitable  bottom  of  English 
horses  and  the  unconquerable  pluck  of  English  riders, 
or  timber  palings  six  feet  perpendicular  height,  or 
rivulets,  like  the  Whissendine,  with  ten  yards  of  bright 
water  between  its  level  banks,  all  to  be  taken  in  the 
stride,  without  the  time  to  choose  a  favorable  place  to 
take  them ;  foxes  that  are  found  in  small  furze  coverts, 
or  gorses  as  they  are  called  in  Leicestershire,  and  go 
away  straight  as  an  arrow,  across  country,  never 
doubling  or  running  rings,  till  they  either  go  to  ground 
without  the  limits  of  the  hunt,  and  are  so  saved,  or 

(45) 


46  A  HUNTING   STABLE. 

are  run  into  by  the  pack,  in  the  middle  of  some  wide 
grass  field,  game  to  the  last ;  and  render  up  their 
lives  to  the  triumphant  chorus  of  who-whoop  !"  add  to 
this  a  scent  so  burning,  that  the  hounds  rarely  stoop 
to  pick  it  from  the  tainted  herbage ;  but  drinking  it 
with  dilated  nostrils  from  the  free  atmosphere  on  every 
breath  of  which  it  steams  aloft,  where  pug  has  passed 
by,  sweep  along,  heads  up  and  sterns  down,  all  to- 
gether, so  that  a  table  cloth  shall  cover  them,  fre- 
quently running  twelve  miles  in  the  hour ;  no  slight 
pace  to  be  maintained  by  horses,  with  twelve  or  four- 
teen stone  weight  upon  their  backs,  often  through 
ground  so  heavy  as  to  hold  them  fetlock-deep,  some- 
times hough-deep,  in  tenacious  clay,  and  this  coupled 
to  the  extra  exertion  of  clearing  not  less  than  thirty 
fences,  such  as  I  have  described,  to  every  mile  of 
country. 

In  the  latter,  wide  woodlands  to  be  traversed,  full 
of  dense  brakes  and  swamps  impassable  for  horses,  to 
which  the  hunted  fox  clings  for  the  dear  life,  running 
short  rings,  doubling  and  dogging  before  the  heavy, 
deep-flewed,  dew-lapped,  black  and  tan,  or  blue-mot- 
tled dogs  of  the  old  Southern  strain  which  form  the 
principal  material  of  the  Virginian  packs  ;  and  never 
facing  the  open,  unless  where  a  field  or  two  intervenes, 
like  a  narrow  channel  parting  two  continents  of  wood- 
land ;  few  heavy  leaps  to  be  taken,  save  now  and  then 
a  snake-rail  fence  in  the  open — and  a  deuced  nasty 
jump  it  is,  too,  were  they  more  frequent — and  once 
and  again  a  fallen  tree,  a  drain,  or  a  rivulet  in  the 
woodland,  the  whole  not  amounting  to  a  dozen  fences 
in  a  run,  and  these  trivial  as  compared  to  English 
bull-finches,  or  stake-and-bound  raspers ;  the  pace 
nothing  to  distress  even  an  ordinary  hack  in  ordinary 
condition  ;  to  conclude,  no  riding  to  the  hounds,  for 
to  ride  up  to  hounds,  or  even  oicar  to  hounds,  in  such 
country  were    impossible,   and    to    gallop    along  the 


A  HUNTING  STABLE.  47 

wood-roads,  or  througli  the  opener  tracts  of  -woodland, 
cutting  off  angles  and  keeping  in  the  inner  curve  of 
arcs,  so  as  to  hold  the  unseen  pack  within  hearing,  is 
the  acme  of  excellence  in  the  sportsmanship  of  tho 
American  fox-chase. 

All  this  was  of  course  well  known  to  Percy  Fairfax, 
who  was  not  only  thoroughly  practical  as  a  sportsman 
in  his  native  land,  but  well  read,  and  thoroughly  im- 
bued, though  theoretically  only,  in  all  the  principles 
of  the  science  of  sportsmanship  abroad.  He  was  a 
capital  horseman,  as  a  horseman ;  and  there  was  pro- 
bably no  single  leap,  however  dangerous  or  awkward, 
at  which  he  would  not  have  put  his  horse  as  well,  and 
carried  him  as  clearly  over  it,  as  the  best  rider  in  all 
Leicestershire.  But  to  take  one  fence  at  your  ease, 
and  to  take  a  long  succession  at  your  speed,  as  you 
may  chance  to  find  them  in  your  line,  out  of  bad 
ground,  perhaps  with  your  horse  blown  or  laboring, 
are  two  things  widely  different.  Nay,  even  to  gallop 
a  horse  across  the  mole-hill  knotted  pastures,  and  the 
deep  meadow-land  of  Leicestershire  and  the  vale  of 
Belvoir,  as  he  must  be  galloped,  not  cantered,  or  held 
hard-in-hand,  in  order  to  keep  a  place  with  hounds,  is 
a  thing  to  be  learned,  and  that  difficulty,  not  to  be 
hit  off  at  first  sight  by  a  tyro. 

Nor  was  this,  either,  unknown  to  Fairfax ;  and,  in- 
deed, had  it  been  in  the  man  ever  to  be  diffident  or 
shy,  or  distrustful  of  his  own  powers,  he  would  have 
been  something  nervous  at  exhibiting  himself  in  a 
capacity  so  strange  and  so  new  to  himself,  before  a 
field  so  exquisitely  mounted,  so  perfectly  accomplished 
in  the  art,  so  critically  fastidious  in  their  tastes  and 
judgments,  and  so  likely  to  regard  with  polite  and 
courteous  tranquillity  of  sarcasm  any  failure  on  the 
part  of  a  foreigner  so  bold  as  to  enroll  himself  a  fol- 
lower of  their  more  than  royal  pastime,  and  so  unskill 
ful  as  to  fail  of  going  through  with  it. 


48  A  nUNTINQ  STABLE. 

But  to  say  truth,  a  want  of  confidence  in  his  own 
capabilities,  of  a  secret  belief  that  he  can  do  any  thing, 
whether  tried  or  untried  before,  as  well  at  least  as 
any  other  man,  if  not  better,  is  rarely  the  defect  of 
any  American ;  it  certainly  was  not  that  of  Percy 
Fairfax.  Nor  was  it,  indeed,  to  be  wondered  at,  that 
he  had  a  sufficient  stock  of  self-reliance ;  for  in  a  youth 
and  manhood  spent  in  many  vicissitudes  of  tempta- 
tion, trial,  and  peril,  he  had  been  many  times  cast 
upon  his  own  resources,  and  as  they  had  never  failed 
him,  it  scarcely  could  be  a  matter  of  surprise  that  he 
should  place  much  reliance  on  his  own  foresight,  judg- 
ment, and  execution. 

This  self-reliance  was  not,  however,  the  blind,  stul- 
tified, arrogant  self-confidence  peculiar  to  the  ignorant, 
vulgar,  and  prejudiced  Yankee,  who  is  at  all  times 
ready  to  guess  that  he  can  do  any  named  thing,  not 
because  he  has  any  cause  to  believe  himself  able,  but 
because  he  has  no  conception  of  the  difficulties  of  the 
thing  to  be  done.  Fairfax,  on  the  contrary,  clearly 
b'aw  the  obstacles  in  his  way  before  he  could  become  a 
thorough  across-country-rider ;  and  not  expecting  to 
electrify  older  and  better  sportsmen  than  himself,  or 
to  astonish  all  Melton  Mowbray  "with  noble  horse- 
manship," was  yet  confident  that  he  should  acquit 
himself  in  the  field,  as  not  only  to  avoid  ridicule  or 
censure,  but  to  acquire  for  himself  some  credit,  in  an 
arena  so  difficult  to  a  foreigner  by  common  consent  of 
all,  as  an  English  hunting-field. 

He  had  traveled,  moreover,  so  long  and  so  widely, 
being  moreover  as  fastidious  in  his  perception  of  nice- 
ties, and  as  jealously  sensitive  of  ridicule  as  if  he  had 
been  an  English  nobleman,  that  he  had  attained  that 
ne  plus  ultra  the  7iil  admirari^  as  perfectly  as  though 
he  had  inherited  it  as  his  birthright,  and  was,  there- 
fore, trebly  unlikely  to  be  guilty  of  the  least  faux  j^as, 


j|r!J!illt''i'ii''  i4 


A  BUNTING  STABLE.  49 

which  should  make  him  ring  false  metal  in  the  ears  of 
the  hard-riding  exquisites  around  him. 

"While  he  was  walking,  silently  himself,  along  with 
his  three  noble  companions  of  the  moment,  some  such 
thoughts  as  these  were  passing  through  his  brain,  and 
he  was  prepared  to  be  astonished,  and  yet  determined 
to  exhibit  no  astonishment,  at  what  he  had  never  yet 
seen,  the  internal  nicety  and  perfect  order  and  ar- 
rangement of  an  English  stable  menage.  For  though 
perhaps  there  are  no  men  in  the  world  more  perfect 
both  in  the  theory  and  the  practice  of  managing,  con- 
ditioning and  training  race-horses,  especially  for  four 
mile  heats,  which  closely  resemble  the  management  ot 
the  thorough-bred  English  hunter,  or  steeple-chaser, 
than  the  Virginians,  it  must  also  be  admitted  that 
their  stables  are  built  and  furnished  and  conducted  in  a 
scrambling,  make-shift  kind  of  way ;  as  different  from 
the  regular  method  of  an  English  stable-department, 
as  are  the  tactics  of  a  regular  regiment  from  the  dis- 
orderly movements  of  a  raw  militia,  or  the  discipline 
and  silence  of  a  ship  of  war  from  the  brawl  and  bustle 
of  a  French  or  Italian  merchantman. 

They  soon  reached  the  doors  of  the  stabling,  which 
had  been  selected  and  ordered  by  the  old  and  experi- 
enced stud-groom  of  Count  Matuschevitz  for  his  mas- 
ter, and  the  young  American,  who  now  stood  nattily 
dressed  in  his  close-bodied  cut-away  coat,  long-waisted 
waistcoat,  loose-cut  drab-breeches  and  white-top  boots, 
expectant  at  the  entrance. 

"Well,  Roberts,"  said  the  Duke  of  Beaufort,  who 
knew  him  of  old  for  a  veteran  Meltonian,  and  whose 
confidence  in  his  own  true  nobility  and  perfect  good- 
natured  self-reliance,  kept  him  entirely  free  from  any 
touch  of  that  snob-aristocracy,  which  has  been  alluded 
to  in  the  case  of  Cheshire,  Jardinier,  and  others, 
which  led  them  to  treat  those  who  were^  or  whom  they 
affected  to  hold  as  being  their  inferiors  in  degree  or 
172 


50  A  HUNTING  STABLE. 

fashion,  witli  ill-natured  superciliousness,  or  yet  more 
impertinent  condescension.  "Well,  Roberts,  we  have 
come  to  look  at  your  stud ;  what  sort  of  a  lot  have 
you  got  this  year  ?  I  suppose  I  shall  find  some  old 
acquaintances  among  the  count's,  hey  ?" 

"Why  yes,  your  grace,"  replied  the  man,  with  the 
quiet  but  unabashed  civility  of  one  of  those  yeoman 
servants  of  England,  who  know  thoroughly  their  own 
station,  and  never  presuming  on  it  at  all,  yet  appre- 
ciate it  fully.  "Why  yes — we've  got  pretty  much  all 
the  old  ones,  except  old  Reveller,  for  he  never  came 
over  that  hard  thing  in  the  spring  from  the  Coplow, 
when  he  got  into  the  Whissendine  in  a  hot  lather,  and 
the  brook  ice  cold ;  and  the  Rantipole  colt,  for  he 
threw  out  a  spavin.  We  've  all  the  rest  of  the  old 
ones,  and  a  prime  young  one  or  two,  'specially  one 
by  Comus  out  of  a  Whisker  mare,  and  a  spanking 
Blacklock  out  of  Czarina.  The  Colonel  has  got  a 
fine  lot,  too,  your  grace  ;  one  a  silver-gray  by  Orville 
from  a  Whalebone,  that  will  fill  your  eye,  I  am  cer- 
tain. I  mean  to  put  you  on  the  gray  to-morrow, 
colonel,  if  you  please.  The  country  is  pretty  deep, 
and  he  is  all  right  to  go." 

"  All  right,  Roberts,"  answered  Fairfax ;  "  but  let  us 
get  in  and  see  the  cattle ;  what  sort  of  quarters  have 
you  got  for  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  have  no  need  to  be  uneasy  on  that  score, 
there  are  no  better  stables  than  these  in  the  markets. 
Master  Roberts  is  a  good  judge  of  .that,  besides  these 
have  been  the  count's  quarters,  these — how  many  sea- 
sons, Matuschevitz  ?" 

"  Seven  or  eight,"  replied  the  Russian ;  "  but  I 
have  made  them  increase  them,  double  them,  in  fact, 
since  you  saw  them.  There  are  two  separate  menacjes 
now,  thirty  stalls  and  six  loose  boxes  to  each.  Come 
in — come  in — whose  quarters  are  the  first,  Roberts  ?" 

"  Colonel  Fairfax's,  count,"  answered   the  groom, 


A  HUNTING  STABLE.  51 

pulling  his  forelock  down  as  he  made  answer,  and 
throwing  open  the  heavy  nail-studded  oak-door  which 
gave  them  admittance  into  a  brick-paved  vestibule, 
with  a  door  on  each  hand,  one  opening  into  the  feed- 
room  and  the  other  into  the  harness-room,  in  which  a 
bright  fire  was  burning,  beside  which  two  or  three 
boys  were  busily  employed  burnishing  bits  and  stirrup- 
irons,  with  store  of  which  the  walls  were  decorated. 

A  second  oaken-door  admitted  them  into  the  stable, 
a  vast  square  apartment  of  sixty-feet  in  each  direction, 
lighted  by  a  cupola  from  above,  well  fitted  with  venti- 
lators, so  that  the  temperature  was  equal  and  pleasant, 
and  the  air  unpolluted  by  the  odors  of  ammonia  from 
the  litter,  which  in  general  render  the  interior  of  a 
stable  so  detestable  to  the  biped  visiters,  and  so  insa- 
lubrious to  the  quadruped  inhabitants. 

On  each  of  the  three  sides  of  this  fine  hall,  was  a 
range  of  ten  large,  roomy  stalls,  nicely  bedded  with 
straw,  the  beds  bound  at  the  edges  by  elaborate  plait- 
ings  and  devices,  and  the  alcoves  above  fringed  with 
a  deep,  fantastic  hanging  of  wrought  straw,  to  attract 
the  notice  of  the  flies ;  and  each  one  of  those  thirty 
stalls  was  occupied  by  a  powerful  and  well-bred  horse, 
many  of  which  turned  their  heads  and  winnied  at  the 
well-known  step  of  the  stud-groom,  making  their  chain 
halters  and  blocks  run  and  rattle  through  the  elects 
of  the  mangers.  They  were  of  almost  all  colors,  three 
or  four  blacks,  with  coats  glistening  like  polished  mar- 
ble, one  splendid  silvery  gray,  two  or  three  roans  and 
dapples,  and  the  rest  blood-bays  and  deep  chestnuts, 
with  a  sprinkling  of  dark  browns  with  cinnamon  muz- 
zles and  inner  thigh  markings,  but  not  a  single  dun  or 
piebald,  or  soft,  fiery  light  sorrel. 

Some  were  stout,  full-quartered,  and  somewhat  cob- 
made  horses,  although  large  and  roomy,  and  with 
length  enough  of  leg  and  neck  to  show  that  whatso- 
ever qualities  they  did  possess,  there  was  no  lack  ia 


62  A  HUNTING  STABLE. 

their  veins  of  good  blood  and  strain  of  noble  ancestry, 
and  these  had,  for  the  most  part,  the  old,  short-square 
cut  docks  of  the  olden  school 

Man;^  more  were  tall,  muscular,  long-reached  thor- 
ough-breds,  with  splendid  crests  and  long  bang  tails, 
the  hair  trimmed  squarely  off  at  the  termination  of  the 
dock — horses,  looking  in  all  respects  like  racers — 
horses,  which  in  all  probability  would  have  made 
the  best  four  mile  horses  in  all  England,  but  for 
the  evil  practice,  which  is,  I  believe,  beginning  to  act 
seriously  in  the  deterioration  of  the  breed  of  English 
race  horses ;  I  mean  the  practice  of  commencing  the 
racing  career  of  all  colts  and  fillies  when  they  are 
merely  in  the  gristle,  and  not  half  come  to  the  bone, 
at  the  infantine  age  of  two  and  three  years,  during 
which  all  the  great  prizes  are  run  for.  This  practice 
not  only  tending  to  break  down  and  destroy,  by  the 
tremendous  system  of  training  thus  rendered  neces- 
sary, two-thirds  of  the  produce  of  each  year,  but  ma- 
terially injuring  even  those  that  have  powers  to  go 
through  the  training,  come  out  from  the  fiery  ordeal 
sound,  and  distinguish  themselves  as  victors ;  and  yet 
more  than  all  this  by  incapacitating  one-third  of  the 
year's  stock  from  going  into  the  training  stables  at  all, 
as  too  big,  too  leggy,  too  bony,  and  too  roomy,  to  be 
brought  by  any  possible  process  of  forcing  or  condi- 
tioning into  sufficient  flesh,  form  and  muscle  to  give 
them  even  a  remote  chance  of  winning  as  three  year  olds. 

Could  these  very  horses  be  left  untrained  and  un- 
molested until  five  or  six  years,  they  would  then  I  be- 
lieve prove  to  be  the  best  horses  ever  raised  in  Eng- 
land, and  we  should  have  far  fewer  rickety,  deformed, 
light-boned  and  puny  colts  and  fillies  in  five  years, 
than  are  now  produced  annually  to  disgrace  our  turf 
and  discredit  our  breeding. 

Unfortunately  the  present  system  of  three  year  old 
racing,  all  the  great  stakes,  as  the  Kiddlesworth,  the 


A  HUNTING  STABLE.  fS 

Oaks,  the  Derby  and  the  St.  Leger,  being  for  at  this 
age,  and  nothing  but  the  Goodwood  stakes  and  a  few 
comparatively  unimportant  cups  being  open  to  all 
ages,  it  is  not  worth  the  while  of  any  one  to  keep  his 
horse,  however  promising,  until  he  shall  have  attained 
his  fiill  powers,  when  there  are  no  adequate  prizes, 
not  even  of  renown  and  glory,  to  compensate  him  for 
the  time,  the  risk,  and  the  expenditure  of  money. 

It  is  these  horses,  which,  purchased  cheap  at  the 
spring  racing  sales,  and  suffered  to  run  at  large  until 
five  or  six  years  old,  then  turn  out  the  prodigies  and 
paragons,  which  they  prove  to  be  across  country  with 
enormous  weights,  from  one  hundred  and  sixty-eight 
pounds  to  two  hundred  and  upward  on  their  backs ; 
taking  incessant  leaps,  and  running  from  nine  to 
twelve  miles  at  a  stretch  across  very  deep,  wet  meadow 
land,  at  their  best  pace ;  and  thereby,  as  I  hold,  prov- 
ing themselves  fully  competent  under  a  proper  system 
of  training  and  racing  to  run  four  mile  heats  against 
any  class  of  horses  in  the  universe. 

If,  however,  this  system  has  proved  injurious  to  the 
racing  stable,  as  it  can  undoubtedly  be  shown  that  it 
has  done,  it  has  proved  in  the  same  degree  advanta- 
geous to  the  hunting  stables  throughout  the  land, 
and  more  especially  in  Leicestershire,  Northampton- 
shii-e,  and  the  midland  counties,  in  which  the  enclo- 
sures are  so  large  and  the  ground  in  general  so  gt)od 
for  galloping,  that  nothing  short  of  thorough  breds 
have  any  chance  of  living  with  fox-hounds,  the  breed- 
ing and  pace  of  which  has  been  improved  within  the 
last  few  years,  so  that  hunting  now,  and  hunting  in 
the  days  when  Somervill  and  Beckford  wrote,  may  be 
regarded  as  two  different  species  of  sport. 

In  accordance  with  this  change  the  stables  of  Colo- 
nel Fairfax  had  been  modeled,  and  as  he  was  person- 
ally a  capital  judge  of  a  horse,  and  very  regardless  of 
expense,  he  had  found  little  difficulty  in  filling  his 


34  A  HUNTING  STABLE. 

Stalls  with  as  fine  a  collection  of  hunters  as  can  ordi- 
narily be  seen  within  the  four  walls  of  a  single  gentle- 
man's stable.  Out  of  the  thirty  horses  which  it  con- 
tained all  but  nine  were  perfectly  thorough-bred,  and 
the  remainder  having  all  at  the  least  three  or  four 
crosses  of  pure  blood,  coupled  to  such  bone  and  beauty, 
could  scarcely  fail  to  carry  a  heavy  man  well  up  to 
the  hounds. 

Several  of  the  thorough-breds  were  animals  of  the 
rarest  symmetry — that  one  especially,  of  which  Ro- 
berts had  spoken,  as  a  silver-gray  by  Orville  out  of  a 
Whalebone  mare,  and  which  was  alone  brought  out  of 
his  stall  and  stripped  of  his  body  clothes  for  the  in- 
spection of  the  gentlemen. 

He  was  a  trifle  over  sixteen  hands  in  height,  of  a 
rich  silvery-gray,  with  a  jet-black  mane  and  tail,  and 
legs  from  the  houghs  downward ;  but  in  his  points  and 
figure  it  was  immediately  conceded,  even  by  those  crit- 
ical and  most  fastidious  judges,  that  he  was  nothing 
below  perfection. 

"  Upon  my  soul,"  drawled  Cheshire  in  his  lazy  affec- 
ted manner,  "  he  is  the  biggest  and  stoutest  thorough- 
bred I  ever  saw.  Well  up  to  fourteen  stone,  I  am 
Bure." 

"Well  up  to  sixteen,  Ches,"  returned  the  duke, 
"  and  so  clean  that  there  is  no  mistake  about  his 
breeding.  The  finest  arm  and  best  let-down  quarters 
I  have  looked  at  these  six  years — and  see  how  finely 
his  withers  taper  down,  what  a  short  back  and  what  a 
length  below.  If  his  action  matches  his  shape  he  is 
worth  more  than  a  trifle." 

"  His  action  on  the  road  is  equal  to  any  thing,  your 
grace,"  replied  the  stud-groom,  speaking  for  his  mas- 
ter. "  We  havn't  had  a  chance  to  give  him  much  of 
a  trial  beyond  a  gallop  or  two  and  his  sweats  over  the 
green,  but  I'll  answer  for  him  he  can  go.  He's  got  a 
mouth  like  a  feather,  but  he'll  take  a  pull,  too,  from 


A  HUNTING  STABLE.  55 

^lear  spirit,  and  if  he  don't  leap,  why  I  don't  know 
what  like  a  leaper  should  be." 

"  Oh  !  he  must  leap,  there's  no  doubt  of  that,  with 
those  legs  under  him,"  said  Beaufort.  "Where  did 
you  pick  him  up,  Roberts  ?" 

"  It  was  Colonel  Fairfax  himself  picked  him  up, 
your  grace ;  not  to  say  that  I  should  have  let  him  slip, 
if  I'd  a  had  the  luck  to  have  'lighted  on  him." 

"He's  a  north  country  horse,  duke,"  continued 
Fairfax.  "I  heard  by  chance  of  a  good  stable  to  sell 
down  in  Yorkshire  in  October,  which  had  been  stable- 
summered  and  were  in  condition,  given  up  in  conse- 
quence of  the  owner's  taking  to  matrimony  on  a 
sudden.  So  I  put  myself  on  the  top  of  the  Glasgow 
mail  and  ran  down  myself  to  look  at  them.  I  picked 
up  this  horse,  and  a  good  chestnut  in  the  corner  there ; 
let  one  of  the  men  unblanket  him  and  bring  him  out 
— he  is  hardly  as  fine  a  horse  as  this,  but  he  has  a 
good  reputation  both  with  the  Duke  of  Cleveland  and 
Lord  Harewood ;  as  well  as  a  brace  of  neat  covert- 
hacks,  at  a  figure  which,  though  a  pretty  big  one  for 
the  lot,  brings  this  horse  and  the  chestnut  pretty  low." 

"If  it  brings  this  horse  lower  than  four  hundred, 
you've  made  no  mistake.  If  his  go  is  up  to  his  looks, 
I'll  give  you  five  hundred  for  him  any  day." 

"Well,  it  tvas  under  four,  but  I  don't  think  I'd  take 
five  till  I  had  tried  him  once  or  twice." 

"And  afterward,  I'm  sure  you  wouldn't,"  put  in 
Roberts.  "Here's  the  chestnut,  your  grace,"  he 
added  ;  "  he's  a  fine  hunter,  and  a  powerful  one,  and 
well-bred  at  that,  but  he's  scarcely  equal  to  the  gray, 
to  my  notion." 

"He  does'nt  show  quite  so  much  breeding,"  re- 
plied the  duke,  "  but  he  has  got  blood  enough  I 
fancy.  A  little  too  close  coupled  perhaps  for  our  fly- 
ing country,  but  he  has  got  stuff  enough  to  send  him 
well  through  the  dirt,  and  I'll  be  bound  he  is  a  fence) . 


66  A  HUNTING  STABLE. 

Those  north  country  horses  are  almost  always  steady, 
well-made  hunters,  and  are  both  quick  and  clever  at 
their  fences,  but  the  countries  of  the  packs  you  name, 
especially  Lord  Harewood's,  are  very  close  and  pewy, 
and  the  fault  of  the  horses  is,  that  four-fifths  of  the 
time,  they  have  never  learnt  properly  to  gallop.  Tho 
enclosures  there  are  so  small  that  your  horse  is 
scarcely  over  one  rasper  before  he's  getting  ready  to 
rise  at  another." 

''  Well  in  that  case,  we  must  try  to  teach  them, 
duke,"  answered  Fairfax,  laughing;  "but  the  worst 
of  that  is  we  shall  have  first  to  learn  ourselves." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  will  take  you  very  long  to  do 
that.  But  let  us  move  round.  Deuced  clever  bay 
horse  that,  and  I  like  that  brown  next  to  him,  with 
the  cinnamon  muzzle.  He's  not  unlike  Valentine 
Magher's  '  Slasher,'  is  he  Ches  ? — and  if  he  is  as  good, 
you'll  not  find  fault  with  his  carrying  you  through  the 
worst  part  of  the  valley." 

"  He  is  devilish  like  him  indeed.  How  is  he  bred, 
colonel,  and  how  old  is  he  ?  He  might  be  '  Slasher's' 
brother,  easily  enough." 

"He's  by  Smolensko,  out  of  a  Waxy  mare,  and 
seven  years  old  last  grass." 

"  Slasher  is  by  Smolensko,  too,  but  I  don't  know 
what  out  of." 

"  Out  of  Miss  Liddy,  my  lord,  by  Sultan,"  said  Ro- 
berts, touching  his  hat.  "This  horse,  we  call  him 
'  Thunderbolt,'  is  bred  by  the  same  gentleman  as 
raised  '  The  Slasher,'  and  Miss  Liddy  she's  half-sister 
to  '  The  Slasher's'  dam ;  so  that  they're  near  akin, 
at  any  rate.  He's  been  ridden  two  seasons  with  the 
Berkeley  Hunt,  and  they  call  him  a  good  one  there, 
and  they  used  to  know." 

"  By  Jove  !  I  thought  I  knew  his  cut,"  cried  Beau- 
fort.    "He  was  Codrington's,  was  he  not,  colonel?" 


A  HUNTING  STABLE.  57 

"  He  was,  indeed.  I  hope  your  report  of  tlm  Is  a 
good  one,  duke  ?" 

"None  ever  better.  I  don't  know  a  horse  any 
where,  much  better,  and  I  have  seen  him  go  in  the 
first  flight  all  day  long  through  the  vale  of  Blackmoor, 
which  as  a  country  is  only  one  step  behind,  if  it  is  be- 
hind, the  vale  of  Belvoir.  So  you  may  set  yourself  at 
ease  as  to  his  being  well  up  to  the  mark." 

"And  now,"  said  Cheshire,  "  if  I  may  make  amove 
it  would  be  to  go  and  look  at  these  fast  trotters,  for 
they're  a  style  of  cattle  I  have  heard  a  good  deal  said 
about,  without  ever  having  seen  many.  Aint  they  a 
deuced  bore  to  drive,  lug  your  shoulders  out  of  the 
sockets,  or  something  of  that  sort,  hey  ?  I  think  I've 
heard  Wortley,  or  some  of  them  say  so,  hey  ?" 

"  They  have  a  trick  of  taking  a  dead  pull,  boring  I 
think  you'd  call  it  here,  when  they  first  come  out  of 
the  trainer's  hands  especially,  and  of  expecting  to  be 
hallooed  at  in  a  most  hideous  style,  but  there  is  not 
the  least  utility  or  object  in  continuing  to  drive  them 
so.  In  fact,  as  soon  as  they  fall  into  gentlemen's 
hands  they  get  broke  almost  instantly  of  these  habits. 
I  have  seen  several  teams  in  New  York,  one  of  four 

blacks,  owned  some  years  since  by  H n  AV 's, 

and  another  of  four  bays  by  De  B s   H r, 

which  could  do  their  three  and  a  half  together  witli- 
out  breaking  their  trot,  under  as  light  and  quick  a  fin- 
ger as  should  needs  be.  I  hate  a  hard,  dead  puller 
myself,  and  though,  driving  as  we  do  trotters  entirely 
on  snaffle  bits,  it  is  necessary  to  hold  them  well  to- 
gether and  feel  their  mouths  steadily  all  the  time, 
there  is  no  more  reason  why  they  should  be  hard- 
headed  or  stiff-necked  brutes  than  your  hunters.  I 
flatter  myself  mine  are  neither.  But,  as  you  say, 
we'll  go  and  look  at  them — where  are  your  trotters,  Ja- 
cobs— and  by  the  bye,  there's  plenty  of  time  before 
dinner,  why  should  not  we  put  them  to  the  wagon, 


^8  A  HUNTING  STABLE. 

and  let  you  h<aye  a  look  at  them  for  half  an  hour  ?  I 
can  give  one  of  you  a  seat,  and  mount  the  other  on  a 
nice  cantering  hack  that  shall  give  you  a  chance  to 
see  their  action — what  do  you  say  to  that  move?" 

"  That  it's  a  good  one,  I" — said  Beaufort,  looking 
at  his  Breguet.  "  It's  only  five  o'clock  now,  and  you 
don't  dine  till  eight,  Ches,  do  you?" 

"  What  we  call  eight,  and  that  is  a  good  deal  nearer 
nine.  We  've  lots  of  time  to  see  the  Yankees  go. 
Which  will  you  do,  Beaufort,  take  the  seat  with  Colo- 
nel Fairfax,  or  back  the  cantering  hack?" 

^'  Oh !  behind  the  trotters  for  me,  by  all  manner  of 
means,"  said  the  duke. 

"  For  my  part  then,  I  '11  ride,"  said  Cheshire;  " if 
it  be  a  little  more  work  one  will  have  a  little  better 
chance  to  see  them." 

"I  would  have  my  curricle  got  out,"  said  Matus- 
chevitz,  laughing,  "  but  I  think  the  saddle  is  a  better 
place  for  galloping  in  than  a  curricle,  even  with  a  pair 
of  thorough-breds  before  it;  and  my  high-stepping 
grays  have  no  more  chance  of  touching  Fairfax's  trot- 
ters, or  letting  you  get  a  glimpse,  except  of  the  dust  they 
leave  behind  them,  unless  at  a  gallop,  than  you  or  I 
of  seeing  the  ladies  across  the  vale  on  foot.  Fairfax 
can  mount  you  well  enough,  or  I  for  that  matter." 

"  A — a  if  it  's  not  too  much  trouble,  I  shall  be 
charmed.  Have  you  more  horses  than  you  know  what 
to  do  with,  colonel  ?  We  have  pretty  hard  work  for 
them  here,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Oh  !  never  fear  me,  I've  got  nine  or  ten  beside 
the  trotters.  A  short  gallop  will  do  them  good.  •  Put 
a  saddle  on  Selim,  Roberts,  and  have  the  sorrels  har- 
nessed to  the  light  trotting-wagon.  I  don't  believe, 
duke,  you  ever  entrusted  yourself  to  so  slight  and 
crazy  a  looking  egg-shell,  but  it  is  as  strong  as  it  is 
light  and  easy-running,  and  over  j^our  smooth  turn- 
pikes it  will  almost  fly." 


A  HUNTING  STABLE.  59 

"  I'll  run  the  risk  with  your  pilotage,  colonel.  And 
while  they  are  getting  them  ready,  suppose  we  go  and 
take  a  look  at  the  count's  stables.  You  half-promised, 
Matuschevitz,  that  you'd  have  a  Cossack  thorough- 
bred or  two  out  here  for  covert  hacks  this  season. 
Have  you  forgotten  that  ?" 

"Neither  the  promise  nor  the  horses,  Beaufort.  I 
have  not  said  any  thing  about  them  yet,  because  I 
wanted  to  get  a  little  flesh  upon,  and  a  little  condition 
into  them,  before  letting  you  fellows  criticise  them, 
after  a  journey  of  so  many  versts  and  a  voyage  of  so 
many  leagues.  But  I  will  have  the  saddle  put  upon 
'  Moscow,'  and  you  shall  see  one  nag  from  the  farthest 
east,  and  a  pair  from  the  far  west  together.  Fairfax 
tells  me,  by  the  way,  that  two  of  the  fastest  trotters 
in  his  country  are  called  '  Moscow  ' — Lord  and  Lady, 
I  believe.     Is  it  not  so,  colonel  V 

''  Something  of  the  sort,  count,"  said  Fairfax. 
"But  you  must  not  pride  yourself  on  that,  for  if  they 
are  called  Moscow,  it  is  not  after  your  sacred  city,  I 
assure  you." 

"  I  never  supposed  it  was,"  answered  Matuschevitz, 
with  a  droll  smile  and  a  slight  leer.  "  I  took  it  for 
granted  it  was  after  some  small  western  village  con- 
sisting of  a  blacksmith's  shop,  a  court  house  and  a 
tavern,  with  one  bank,  built  of  pine  lumber  on  the  plan 
of  the  Acropolis,  and  a  Baptist  church  exactly  like 
the  Pantheon.  I  know  you  have  got  a  St.  Peters- 
burgh  about  ten  miles  from  Rome,  and  as  many  more 
from  Athens,  so  why  not  a  Moscow,  too?" 

"Why  not,  indeed,"  said  Fairfax ;  "and  for  aught  I 
know,  there  may  be  not  one  Moscow  in  the  United 
States,  but  one  in  every  county  of  every  state  in  the 
Union — still  our  Moscows  cannot  claim  your  Russian 
title  even  at  second  or  third  hand,  being  so  styled  as 
I  am  informed,  by  corruption,  from  the  Indian  name 
'  Yamaska,'  of  a  Canadian  river,  on  the  banks  of  which 


60  A  HUNTING  STABLE. 

they  were  bred ;  which  title  has  dwindled,  or  increased, 
whether  of  the  twain  you  will,  by  transmission 
through  sundry  mouths  of  horse-jockeys  from  the  three 
syllables  into  simple  Moscow.  But  see,  here  come 
the  sorrels,  duke  !     Shall  we  be  moving?" 

"  And  here  is  the  Cossack,  too,"  said  Cheshire, 
"  with  hair  enough  on  his  mane  and  tail  to  make  all 
the  judges'  wigs  in  England  for  these  three  hundred 
years  to  come — and  this  trim,  bang-tailed  bay,  for 
your  humble  servant.  Well,  they  're  all  beauties  in 
their  way,  past  all  denial." 

*'The  trotters,  most  of  all,"  said  Beaufort;  "they 
are  almost  perfection." 

"I  thought  you'd  like  them,  duke." 

"  I  am  glad  you  thought  so,  colonel,  for  you  must 
needs  have  thought  me  a  mere  dunce  otherwise." 

"  We  had  better  be  off  then,  or  we  shall  keep  Lord 
Cheshire's  dinner  waiting,  and  that  would  not  be  alto- 
gether  comme  ilfaut." 

"•  Allons,  I'm  ready." 

And  they  started. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  TROT,  AND  A  DINNER  PARTY. 

The  trotters  were,  indeed,  as  the  duke  liad  said, 
almost  perfection;  and  although  of  a  cut  and  charac- 
ter not  much  understood,  nor  at  that  day  very  often 
seen  in  England — for  that  matter  a  first-rate  pair  are 
no  common  spectacle  in  the  island  to  this  day,  the 
style  not  exactly  coinciding  with  the  sporting  tastes 
of  the  people — were  yet  such  as  to  attract  very  gene- 
ral attention,  and  to  be  adequately  appreciated  and 
admired  by  all  good  judges  of  horse-flesh. 

Standing  about  fifteen  hands  and  an  inch,  with  high 
clean  withers  and  sharp  thin  crests,  they  gave  a  con- 
siderable show  of  blood,  though  of  a  very  difierent 
strain  from  that  of  the  delicate-limbed,  long-striding, 
arch-necked  thorough-breds  by  which  they  were  sur- 
rounded. Yet  they  had  both  the  neat,  small,  well  set 
on  heads,  and  one  of  them  had  the  broad  front  and 
hasin  face,  as  it  is  technically  termed,  which  is  held 
to  imply  the  existence  of  an  oriental  descent.  The 
legs  of  both  were  as  clean  of  hair,  as  compact  of  bone, 
and  as  wiry  of  sinew,  as  if  they  had  sprung  from  a 
race  that  could  number  its  ancestors  backward  in  a 
direct  line,  to  Marske,  Highflyer,  Regulus,  Eclipse,  and 
through  them  directly  to  the  Godolphin  Arabian,  the 
Byerly  Turk,  or  the  Darley  Arabian,  the  only  three 
horses  of  Eastern  origin,  out  of  the  many  hundreds 
imported,  which  are  believed  by  the  best  sportsmen  to 
have  really  improved  the  English  and  thence  the 
American  thorough-bred. 

Beyond  this,  however,  they  difiered   considerably 

(61) 


62  A  TROT,  AND  A  DINNER  PARTY. 

from  that  which  would  have  been  in  England  the  type 
of  equine  beauty.  It  is  true  they  had  fine  sloping 
withers,  excellent  shoulders,  arms  of  colossal  strength, 
were  well  ribbed  up,  and  short-barreled,  that  their 
quarters  were  powerful  almost  to  a  fault,  and  well  let- 
down to  the  houghs,  but  their  rumps  had  that  peculiar 
angular  fall  from  a  little  way  behind  the  whirlbone  to 
the  tail,  which  is  known  to  the  sportsman  as  the 
goose-rump,  and  is  in  Europe  generally  regarded  as  a 
proof  of  Irish  blood,  many  of  the  best  hunters  of  that 
country,  as  also  many,  I  might  almost  say  most,  of 
the  best  trotters  of  this,  are  observable  for  this  malfor- 
mation- -for  such  it  must  be  regarded,  so  far  at  least 
as  beauty  is  concerned,  though  not  perhaps  activity  or 
speed. 

The  color  of  these  clever  animals,  which  certainly 
bore  no  similarity  to  the  celebrated  English  cob,  much 
less  to  the  stanhope  or  cabriolet  horse,  with  which  all 
the  bystanders  were  acquainted,  was  a  deep,  rich, 
glossy  chestnut,  very  far  removed,  indeed,  from  the 
dull  and  washy  tint  which  is  generally  known  as  sor- 
rel ;  for  in  the  shadow  they  would  certainly  have  been 
esteemed  browns,  perhaps  even  blacks,  but  the  moment 
the  sunshine  played  on  the  smooth  and  satin  lustre  ot 
their  well-groomed  and  well-conditioned  coats,  there 
was  no  hue  or  tint  of  metallic  gloss  and  radiance 
which  might  not  be  seen  playing  over  them. 

Their  long,  thin  manes,  and  well  squared  docks 
were  of  the  same  color  as  their  coats,  perhaps  a  shade 
or  two  darker ;  but  they  had  each  four  white  stock- 
ings up  to  the  very  houghs,  and  a  broad  white  blaze 
down  the  centre  of  their  faces,  which,  however,  far 
from  detracting  from  their  beauty,  rather  increased 
it,  by  increasing  their  similitude  each  to  the  other,  and 
by  adding  I  know  not  what  to  their  style  of  jauntiness 
and  peculiarity. 

The  vehicle  to  which  they  were  attached  by  rounded 


A  TROT,  AXD  A  DINNER  PARTY.  63 

traces  and  harness  so  light,  without  hreechings,  crup- 
peis,  bearing-reins  or  blinkers,  and  fitted  Vith  Dutch 
collars  crossing  their  breasts,  instead  of  the  usual 
heavy  collars,  that  the  Meltonians  looked  at  with  won- 
dering eyes,  perhaps  expecting  to  see  it  go  to  pieces 
like  cobwebs  at  the  first  stroke  of  the  horses,  was  an 
ordinary  light  trotting  wagon,  with  wheel-spokes  about 
as  thick  as  ordinary  walking-sticks,  and  every  thing 
corresponding  thereto  in  style  and  finish.  And  so 
fragile  and  toy-like  did  the  whole  apparatus  show  in 
eyes  accustomed  to  the  solid  and  massive  finish  of 
English  carriage-builders,  that  gallant  as  he  was  in 
all  senses  of  the  word,  and  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
horsemanship  and  coaching  in  all  its  various  branches, 
the  Duke  of  Beaufort  paused  one  moment,  and  re- 
garded it  with  a  distrustful  eye  before  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  trust  his  goodly  sixteen  stone  to  its  slender 
springs,  thin  spokes,  and  tray-like  body. 

"Never  fear,  duke,"  said  Fairfax,  who  had  already 
taken  the  soft  white  hand-pieces  of  the  trotting  reins 
into  his  hands,  with  a  gay  smile,  "it  has  carried  a 
much  heavier  weight  than  we  two,  and  that,  too,  over 
a  much  rougher  ground  than  we  are  like  to  cross  to- 
day. Why  our  trotting  courses  are  rough  to  your 
Macadamized  turnpikes,  though  they  are  not  so  hard 
upon  our  horses'  feet,  that  must  be  admitted ;  and  as 
for  our  best  roads,  with  a  few  far  between  exceptions, 
they  would  make  a  sorry  show  beside  the  worst  of 
your  lanes  and  bye-roads." 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you,  I'm  not  afraid  of  your  pilotage 
or  your  wagon  either,  but  at  the  same  time,  after  one 
of  our  phnetons  or  curricles,  it  does  look  rather  like  a 
cock-boat  after  a  man-of-war." 

"Get  away,  lads,"  said  Fairfax,  in  a  low  tone,  with 
a  gentle  whistle,  so  soon  as  he  saw  that  the  Eussian 
count  had  bestridden  "Moscow,"  and  the  dandy  earl 
climbed  to  "  k^elim's"  back,  giving  his  reins  a  slight 


64  A  TROT,  AND  A  DINNER  TARTY. 

shako  as  he  spoke,  and  at  his  word  the  two  clever 
nags  got  under  way  at  once,  his  long,  straight  whip 
standing  erect  in  its  socket,  as  i^  they  had  been  actu- 
ated by  a  single  impulse,  taking  precisely  the  same 
stroke,  and  lifting  their  legs  with  bent  knees  and 
square  action,  as  truly  and  precisely  as  if  they  had 
been  lounged  and  trained  for  months  to  go  together, 
and  stepping  rather  like  the  duplicate  of  one  fine  trot- 
ter, than  the  best  pair  that  were  ever  lapped  in  horse- 
hide.  As  they  wheeled  into  the  back  lane  by  which 
the  party  had  walked  up  to  the  stables,  already  going, 
though  they  had  not  started  many  seconds,  at  the  rate 
of  nine  or  ten  miles  the  hour,  so  quickly  did  the  true 
and  fleet  little  animals  get  to  their  work,  half  a  dozen 
or  more  of  the  grooms  and  supernumeraries,  who  were 
lounging  about  on  that  comparatively  leisure  day, 
paused  and  turned  to  look  after  them,  with  many  a 
whispered  comment  on  the  speed,  style  and  appearance 
of  the  clippers,  and  many  a  murmured  note  of  admi- 
ration as  to  who  the  strange  gentleman  might  be  who 
was  tooling  the  duke  ;  for  with  the  kindest  and  most 
popular  man  in  Melton,  if  not  in  all  England,  there 
were  none  there  who  were  not  well  acquainted. 

By  the  time  they  had  got  to  the  end  of  the  bye-lane, 
where  it  turned  round  the  corner  of  Fairfax's  lodging, 
at  the  distance  of  perhaps  a  mile  from  his  stables,  into 
the  main  street,  they  were  going  well  together  at  the 
most  slapping  pace  that  ever  had  been  seen  in  the 
streets  of  Melton  Mowbray,  not  less  certainly  than  at 
the  rate  of  a  mile  in  three  minutes  or  twenty  miles  an 
hour,  as  was  very  evident  from  the  fact  that  Matus- 
chevitz  and  Cheshire,  though  both  mounted  on  thor- 
ough-breds,  and  no  bad  ones  either,  had  about  as  much 
as  they  could  do  to  keep  side  by  side  with  them  ;  for 
tlie  lane  having  a  firm  sandy  soil,  which  had  been  ren- 
dered compact  by  late  rains,  without  being  made  deep 
or  heavy,  was,   indeed,  as  Fairfax  said,  very  nearly 


A  TROT,  AND  A  DINNER  PARTY.  65 

equal  both  in  smoothness  and  consistency  to  the  best 
of  American  race-tracks. 

As  they  reached  the  angle,  which  was  a  very  sharp 
one,  Fairfax  took  them  in  hand  ^  little,  soothing  them 
at  the  same  time  with  a  whispering  word,  and  slack- 
ing his  hand  to  them  a  trifle  after  the  pull,  when  they 
came  up  quite  handily  with  a  toss  of  their  proud  heads, 
and  a  snort  or  two,  and  dropped  into  a  rapid  square 
trot  of  about  ten  miles  the  hour,  as  steadily  and  with- 
out a  fret,  as  if  they  had  been  going  no  faster  from 
the  start,  and  as  if  the  Cossack  thorough-bred,  fierce, 
fiery  and  intractable,  had  not  been  plunging,  wheel- 
ing, and  cui'veting  like  a  wild  horse,  side  by  side  with 
them,  impatient  of  the  restraint  which  would  not  suf- 
fer him  longer  to  maintain  with  his  rival  trotters,  that 
hard  gallop  which  could  have  availed  in  the  long  run 
nothing,  against  the  steady  and  supported  speed  of 
his  American  antagonists. 

"  This  is  astonishing,  indeed !"  said  Beaufort,  ad- 
miring the  perfect  breaking  no  less  than  the  admira- 
ble condition  of  the  trotters,  which  had  not  cast  a  gout 
of  spume  over  their  shining  coats,  nor  dimmed  the  lus- 
tre of  their  glancing  chestnut  hides  by  one  stain  or 
shade  of  moisture.  '^  We  must  surely  have  been  go- 
ing, then,  at  the  rate  of  twenty  miles  an  hour." 

"  I  suppose  you  know,  duke,"  replied  Fairfax,  "  that 
twenty  miles  has  actually  been  done  recently  in  New 
York,  within  the  hour,  at  a  trot." 

"  Indeed,  I  did  not ;  nor  would  I  have  believed  it 
possible.  Why  twenty  miles  in  an  hour  is  good  gal- 
loping for  a  thorough-bred." 

"  Undeniably  it  is ;  nevertheless,  a  half-bred  colt, 
out  of  a  trotting  chestnut  mare  known  as  Fanny  Pul- 
len,  got  by  imported  English  Trustee,  did  it  handily. 
These  little  nags  of  mine  have  done  seventeen  and  a 
half  together  in  the  hour,  and  at  any  moment ;  and  at 
a  moment's  notice,  I  would  back  them  to  go  a  single 
173 


66         A  TROT,  AND  A  DINNER  PARTY. 

mile  together,  driving  them  myself  alone,  in  two  min- 
utes forty  seconds,  or  five  miles  in  16  minutes.  That 
off-side  horse,  duke,  which  is  a  thought  the  fastest,  has 
done  a  mile  in  2. 27 J. in  single  harness,  and  the  other 
can  do  it  under  2.30.  ' 

"  And  are  such  wonders  common  in  America — what 
are  such  cattle  worth  ?" 

"  To  say  truth,  they  are  neither  wonders  nor  com- 
mon. There  are  always  a  good  many,  say  a  dozen  or 
two,  perhaps  more,  in  the  different  large  cities,  kept 
not  for  pleasure,  but  for  matches,  that  can  do  a  good 
deal  under  2.36  from  that  down  to  2.29  ;  but  still  their 
number  is  not  legion ;  nor  though  a  good  many  pri- 
vate gentlemen  in  all  parts  of  the  country  keep  2.36 
horses  for  their  own  private  amusement,  still  such  do 
not  number  by  hundreds  in  the  whole  country. 
Their  price  varies  according  to  shape,  beauty,  endu- 
rance, soundness,  and  the  like.  These  stood  me  in 
four  thousand  dollars  and  a  little  more — you  may 
call  it  about  900  pounds.  You  can  scarce  get  sound 
and  showy  horses  cheaper." 

"  Despardieux  !  I  should  think  not.  But  here  comes 
a  Stanmore  livery,  Cheshire's  carriage,  with  la  belle 
comptesse,  whom  you  have  not  seen,  I  believe,  but 
with  whom  you  are  to  be  dazzled  at  dinner  to-day, 
and  Anson,  riding  by  the  window  like  a  dutiful  sposo 
and  brother  ;  so  I  suppose  his  pretty  wife  is  there  too. 
Suppose  you  show  them  what  the  Yankees  can  do, 
colonel.  Let  them  go  here  a  bit,  I  beseech  you. 
The  mile  stone  is  just  opposite  the  club-room  yonder ; 
and  you  have  just  room  to  get  them  going  before  you 
pass  it.  The  next  is  at  the  fork  of  the  road  straight 
a-head ;  I  want  to  time  them  ;  and  there,  by  Jove, 
are  Vauxhall,  and  Cecil  Forrester,  and  both  the  Mac 
donalds,  and  Jardinier,  and  I  can't  see  who  besides,  all 
lounging  at  the  door,  or  in  the  windows.  Let  them 
go,  if  you  love  me,  colonel,  and  give  them  something 


A  TROT,  AND  A  DINNER  PARTY.  67 

to  talk  about,  just  for  once.     It  will  be  a  cbarity,  I 
assure  you." 

''As  you  say,  duke,"  replied  Fairfax;  "but  take 
my  watch  if  you  want  to  time,  it  is  an  independent 
quarter  second.  Stop  her  now,  and  start  her  just  as 
we  pass  the  mile  stone ;  and  stop  her  again  as  we 
pass  the  second — are  you  up  to  it?" 

"  Tant  soit  peu.  I  picked  it  up  a  little  from  a  com- 
patriot of  yours,  Mr.  Corbin." 

"  Oh,  Frank — of  course.  Not  a  compatriot  only, 
but  a  CO- Virginian.  If  you  learned  of  him,  you  are  a 
good  hand  at  it  I  doubt  not.     Get  away,  lads.     Off!" 

And  away  they  went  at  the  word  at  a  tearing  pace ; 
for  though  by  far  too  well  broke  to  rake  or  pull,  or* 
even  snatch  their  bits  when  it  was  not  their  cue  to  go, 
still  both  their  bloods  were  well  up,  and  the  instant 
they  knew  by  the  tightened  rein  and  taughted  hand 
of  their  driver  that  go  was  the  word ;  go  they  did, 
and  in  earnest,  increasing  their  pace  at  every  stroke, 
and  making  the  gravel  and  small  stones,  launched  by 
their  quick  falling  hoofs  against  the  sounding  dash- 
board, rattle  and  patter  like  a  March  hail-storm.  So 
rapidly  did  they  shoot  past  the  carriage  of  Lady  Ches- 
hire that,  although  Percy  Fairfax  looked  with  all  his 
eyes,  he  could  catch  but  a  passing  flash  from  a  pair  of 
beautiful  black  eyes,  framed  as  it  were  by  a  profusion 
of  black  ringlets,  which  waved  across  the  lovely  fea- 
tures, as  she  leaned  a  little  forward  from  the  window 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  that  fast  fleeting  meteor-wagon, 
and  to  recognize  with  a  rapid  kiss  of  her  gloved  fin- 
gers the  deep  bow  of  the  Duke  of  Beaufort. 

But  as  they  whirled  past  the  windows  of  the  club- 
houses, now  crowded  to  overflowing,  and  went  by  the 
mile-stone  which  was  in  this  instance  to  act  as  their 
starting  post,  with  Beaufort  evidently  marking  the 
time  on  a  stop-watch,  and  Cheshire  and  the  count 
tearing  along,  literally  as  who  should  say  the  devil 


68  A  TROT,  AND  A  DINNER  PARTY. 

take  the  hindmost,  the  wonder  and  admiration  of  the 
young  cog7ioseenti  and  trtrtoSa/tot  of  Melton  broke  out 
into  a  loud  hubbub  of  questions  and  answers,  and  odds 
bet  and  taken,  cries  of  surprise  and  admiration,  not 
less  than  of  delight,  at  the  occurrence  of  any  thing 
that  should  break  the  long  and  slow  monotony  of  a 
Melton  Mowbray  Sunday  morning. 

Before  they  had  cleared  the  first  mile-stone,  the  oc- 
cupants of  the  club  windows  were  all  on  the  steps  or 
in  the  street ;  and  happy  they  whose  hacks  were  wait- 
ing at  the  door,  for  as  quick  as  they  could  grasp  the 
reins  and  mount  without  so  much  as  setting  foot  in 
stirrup,  Jiey  presto  !  they  were  off  at  full  gallop,  ri- 
ding as  if  for  the  dear  life,  in  pursuit  of  Matuschevitz 
and  Cheshire,  who  were  now  literally  spurring,  and 
unable  at  that  to  overtake  the  spanking  square  trot  of 
those  rattlers — for  there  was  not  a  particle  of  darting 
or  pointing  in  their  regular  and  even  step.  The  horse- 
men had  been  perchance  sixty  or  eighty  yards  behind 
the  wagon  when  it  started,  and  though  if  abreast  and 
at  their  speed  when  the  trotters  passed  the  mile-stone, 
they  could  undoubtedly  have  kept  abreast  with  them, 
even  at  that  slashing  pace,  they  had  not  a  chance  of 
making  up  the  lost  way,  nor  did  they  gain  upon  them 
a  yard  until  they  had  shot  past  the  second  mile-stone 
on  the  Lincoln  turnpike,  and  had  slackened  their  pace. 
A  minute  or  two  afterward  they  had  pulled  up  and 
were  standing  stock  still,  champing  their  bits,  tossing 
their  heads,  and  evidently  by  no  means  disinclined  to 
try  another  heat  of  it. 

The  duke  had  jumped  out  of  the  wagon  the  moment 
they  stood  still,  and  was  now  walking  round  them,  ob- 
serving every  symptom  of  wind  in  their  slightly  heav- 
ing flanks  and  wide-extended  nostrils,  but  not  one  sign 
could  he  discover  of  weariness  or  blowing  after  what 
had  seemed  to  him  an  extraordinary  exertion,  much 


A  TROT,  AND  A  DINNER  PARTY.  69 

less  of  distress,  or  any  defect  in  their  wind,  bone,  or 
sinew. 

The  next  moment  they  were  suiTOimded  by  a  crowd 
of  eager  and  animated  inquirers,  some  begging  to  be 
introduced  to  the  owner  of  the  wonders,  some  all  agog 
to  know  their  history,  their  local  habitation,  and  their 
name  ;  som^j  earnest  to  learn  what  the  time  had  been, 
whereby  to  solve  the  question  of  the  "ponies,"  the 
"fifties,"  and  the  "hundreds"  which  had  been  liber- 
ally bandied  to  and  fro  and  the  result,  and  all  agreed 
on  one  point,  that  never  before  had  such  trotting  been 
seen  in  England. 

"  "What  was  the  time,  Ches  ?"  cried  young  Peyton, 
one  of  the  best  judges  of  pace  in  the  United  Kingdom ; 
"  was  it  a  match  against  time  ?" 

"Nothing  of  the  sort — only  a  spurt,  to  show  us 
what  they  could  do." 

"  The  devil  !— and  what  did  they  do  ?" 

"  You  must  asTv  Beaufort,  he  kept  the  time.  Some- 
thing better  than  a  mile  within  three  minutes." 

"Oh,  you  be  hanged!"  cried  coarse  Jardinier; 
"why  that's  fifteen  miles  an  hour  almost,  ain't  it?" 

"  Almost,  Jardinier,"  shouted  Tom  Gascoigne. 
"  Yes,  a  mile  in  three  minutes  is  almost  fifteen  miles 
an  hour.  Three  times  fifteen  is  sixty-one,  you  know ; 
and  there  are  just  sixty  minutes  in  the  hour." 

"  There,  did  not  I  tell  you  so,  A^auxhall,"  said  Jar- 
dinier, triumphantly  to  his  companion,  who  was  laugh- 
ing at  him.  "  Did  not  I  tell  you  it  was  almost  fif- 
teen." 

"  Didn't  they  teach  'rithmetic  as  well  as  reading 
and  'riting  at  the  Charter-liouse,  Jardiner,"  asked  Ce- 
cil Forrester,  almost  splitting  his  sides  at  the  hard- 
riding  viscount's  magnificence  of  snobbish  ignorance. 

"  Confound  the  Charter-house  !"  responded  Jardi- 
nier sulkily ;  "  who  the  deuce  knows  what  they  do  ?    1 


70  A  TROT,  AND  A  DINNER  PARTY. 

was  not  at  the  Charter-house.  Who  the  deuce  ever 
was — what  gentleman,  I  mean?" 

"  Why  I  was  for  one ;  and  you  might  as  well  have 
been,  I  think,  for  I  am  sure  you  might  have  learned 
there  that  twice  three  make  six,  and  twenty  times 
three  sixty,"  said  the  son  of  a  rich  banker,  rather  a 
favorite  with  the  young  dandies  and  nobleman,  on  ac- 
count of  his  manliness  and  good-nature,  as  well  as  his 
aptitude  and  skill  at  all  bold  sports  and  gallant  pas- 
times, which  ever  wins  its  way,  in  England  especially, 
among  the  upper  classes. 

There  was  a  general  laugh  in  which  every  one 
joined  heartily  except  the  sulky,  proud,  and  penniless 
peer,  who  had  been  expelled  from  Eton  before  he  had 
cleared  the  fourth  form,  and  who  now  answered  dog- 
gedly, and  with  an  air  of  undoubted  superiority, 

"  I  was  at  Eton,  my  good  fellow,  and  they  don't 
teach  that  kind  of  thing  there,  you  know — no  buying 
and  selling  there.  This  orthography^  or  whatever  you 
call  it,  these  two-and-two  tables  are  all  very  good  for 
bankers,  you  know,  and  merchants,  old  fellow:  we 
don't  trouble  ourselves  about  such  things,  you  know — 
we  don't !" 

Fairfax  raised  his  eyes  quickly  to  meet  the  eyes  of 
Matuschevitz,  as  though  he  would  have  reminded  him 
of  the  conversation  which  had  passed  between  them 
that  morning ;  and  his  friend  who  had  anticipated  his 
glance,  and  met  it,  smiled  merrily,  and  nodded  his 
head,  and  then  laying  his  finger  on  his  lips,  and  shak- 
ing his  brow  in  dissent,  looked  away  toward  Beaufort, 
who  just  then  took  up  the  word. 

"Yes,  yes,  Jardinier,"  said  he,  "you're quite  right. 
There  was  no  orthography  at  Eton  in  my  time ;  and 
why  should  there  ?  it  is  part  of  our  parliamentary 
privilege  to  be  held  excused  from  any  thing  so  '  base 
and  mechanical,'  as  old  Claverhouse,  or  Rob  Roy, 
would  have  said,  as  reading,  'riting,  or  'rithmetic. 


A  TROT,  AND  A  DIXNER  PARTY.  71 

And  we  peers  ought  certainly  to  stick  to  our  privi- 
leges as  we  would  to  our  order." 

"  Of  course  we  ought,"  said  Jardinier,  with  sullen 
and  dignified  assent,  for  he  was  by  far  too  thick 
headed  to  perceive,  and  too  conceited  to  imagine  that 
he  could  be  the  subject  of  mockery  to  whom  he  deemed 
or  termed  his  friends,  never  having  been  in  all  the 
course  of  his  days,  himself,  a  friend  to  any  man. 

"  But  wh©  ever  heard  of  such  time  as  this  ?"  contin- 
ued the  good-natured  duke,  almost  repenting  the  well- 
deserved,  though  by  the  culprit  unappreciated,  casti- 
gation  which  he  had  inflicted  on  the  stupid  and  arro- 
gant lordling.  "What  do  you  say  to  that,  Anson — 
what  say  you,  Forrester?"  as  these  two  rode  up  a  lit- 
tle way  in  advance  of  Cheshire's  handsome  carriage. 
"  A  mile  done,  on  a  square  trot  with  myself  and  Colo- 
nel Fairfax,  not  an  ounce  short  of  28  stone  the  two, 
I'll  bet  a  cool  hundi-ed  on  it,  without  a  word,  or  a 
break,  or  a  touch  of  the  whip,  in — what  do  you  think  ? 
Not  one  of  you'll  believe  it — two  minutes  and  thirty- 
seven  seconds !" 

"  The  deuce  !"  "  You  don't  say  so  !"  "  Whose  are 
they?"  "Where  do  they  come  from?"  And  again 
there  was  a  hubbub  of  inquiries,  admirations,  glorifi- 
cations, and  what  not,  until  Fairfax,  who  had  gone 
out  to  drive  that  morning  an  obscure,  and  so  far  as 
Melton  Mowbray  was  concerned,  an  almost  unknown 
individual,  got  out  of  his  wagon  at  the  steps  of  the 
club-house,  to  which  he  was  heartily  welcomed,  and 
found  himself,  as  Byron  had  done  before  him,  on 
awakening  after  the  publication  of  Childe  Harold, 
famous. 

Two  of  his  grooms  had  followed  him  at  a  conve- 
nient distance,  and  to  one  of  these,  hight  "  Woodruff," 
a  scion  of  that  renowned  family  of  trotting  trainers, 
drivers,  and  riders,  who  have  won  so  many  laurels  on 
the  Centreville  course  at  New  York,  and  the  Hunting 


72  A  TROT,  AND  A  DINNER  PARTY. 

Park  at  Philadelphia,  were  the  pair  of  phenomenons 
entrusted,  and  after  being  duly  blanketed,  were  led 
away  as  fast  as  the  admiring  concourse,  first  of  gen- 
tlemen, then  of  gentlemen's  gentlemen,  and  lastly  of 
stud-grooms,  boys,  and  riders  would  allow  it,  to  their 
stable. 

An  hour  or  two  glided  away  very  pleasantly  at  the 
club;  our  Virginian  was  introduced  to  every  one 
worth  knowing,  and,  what  was  more  agreeable,  every 
one  that  was  worth  knowing,  seemed  very  glad  to 
know  him.  Nor  did  any  thing  happen  in  any  way 
likely  to  annoy  his  amour  propre^  or  tread,  sensitive 
and  jealous  as  he  was  of  men's  opinions,  upon  what  a 
lively  Frenchman  has  not  inaptly  called  the  corns  of 
his  mind.  Once  he  did,  indeed,  overhear  Jardinier 
expressing  his  wonder  to  Tom  Gascoigne,  Dick  Oliver, 
Cecil  Forester,  and  a  few  others,  that  Colonel  Fair- 
fax, who  after  all  was  only  an  American — he  would 
have  said  "  Yankee,"  but  that  he  supposed  that  term 
to  indicate  some  almost  unknown  variety  of  the  hu- 
man race — should  be  so  white,  and  should  dress  and 
speak  so  much  like  other  people.  "  One  has  heard, 
you  know,"  this  genius  continued,  who  has  latterly 
become  by  the  way  a  poetical  contributor  to  the  fash- 
ionable annuals — "  that  they  are  copper-colored,  you 
know,  and  wear  scalp-locks  and  blankets,  and  make  a 
strange  sort  of  snuffing  through  their  noses,  which  they 
call  talking,  you  know ;  and  which  white  folks  call  a 
war-whoop.     I've  half  a  mind  to  ask  him  about  it." 

"  I  would  keep  it  a  half  mind,"  replied  Tom  Gas- 
coigne, laughing  as  if  he  would  kill  himself;  ''  at  least 
I  would  not  do  it,  were  I  you,  for  a  thousand ;  for 
whether  he  wears. a  scalp-lock  himself,  or  takes  scalps 
from  others,  I  don't  know ;  but  I  don't  think  he  looks 
a  very  likely  fellow  to  take  much  nonsense,  or  to  have 
the  most  profound  respect  for  the  privileges  of  peers, 
whether  they  understand  arithmetic  or  no." 


A  TROT,  AND  A  DINNER  PARTY.  73 

But  the  absurdity  and  ignorance  of  the  young 
puppy  rendered  it  impossible  to  be  annoyed,  much  less 
seriously  angry  with  him ;  and  when  Matuschevitz 
whispered  in  his  ear  that  it  was  getting  to  be  time  to 
walk  home  and  dress  for  dinner,  the  Virginian  left  the 
company  certainly  with  modified  dislikes  or  disinclina- 
tions even  toward  the  very  snobdom  of  the  English  aris- 
tocracy, and  with  a  very  cordial  feeling  of  respect  and 
liking  for  the  simple  mannered,  frank-spoken,  open, 
cheerful,  manly,  and  unpresuming  gentlemen  who,  he 
was  not  slow  to  perceive,  formed  at  least  nine  out  of 
ten  out  of  the  collectaneum  of  sportsmen,  whether  en- 
nobled or  no,  who  had  offered  him  so  earnestly  and 
unaffectedly  the  right  hand  of  good  fellowship,  on  this 
his  first  introduction,  as  an  unknown  foreigner,  to  one 
of  their  most  intensely  national  and  thoroughly  ex- 
clusive cliques. 

Nor  could  he  refrain  from  expressing  something  of 
this  strain  of  feeling  to  his  Russian  friend,  as  they 
sauntered  slowly  homeward.  "Our  people,"  he  said, 
"  could  not  believe  at  home,  that  these  men  are  the 
very  flower  of  that  English  aristocracy  of  which  they 
have  heard  so  much,  and  whom  they  believe  to  be  so 
haughty,  so  arrogant,  so  ignorant,  and  so  exclusive. 
I  assure  you,  count,  there  is  much  more  of  that  sort  of 
social  impertinence  and  cliqueism,  much  more  of  arro- 
gance and  exclusiveness  among  the  soi-disantes  fashion- 
able sets  of  our  American  mercantile  cities,  than  among 
these  men,  who  are  supposed  to  hold  themselves  the 
very  creme  de  la  or  erne  de  la  terrey 

"And  who  do  really  so  hold  themselves,  monclier^'^ 
replied  the  minister.  "  But,  though  very  generally 
believed,  there  is  no  greater  error  than  the  opinion 
that  most  or  many  Englishmen  of  good  standing  at 
home  are  exclusive  or  arrogant.  They  associate,  when 
at  home,  with  their  own  caste,  because  there  is  no 
other  caste  with  which  they  can  agreeably  or  consist- 


74  A  TEOT,.^ND  A  DINNER  PARTY. 

ently  associate.  Abroad  they  seek  out  those  with 
whom  they  have  feelings  and  ideas,  and  yet  more 
amusements  in  common — those  who  have  not  they 
neither  exclude  nor  avoid,  but  simply  do  not  chance 
to  notice  or  seek  out,  because  they  find  no  cause  why 
they  should  do  so.  There  are  ignorant  asses,  and  ill- 
natured  assuming  puppies  in  all  classes  ;  and  I  dare 
say,  my  dear  colonel,  your  knowledge  of  New  York, 
and  its  fashionable  characters,  might  call  to  your  mind 
some  ignoramuses  as  great  as  Jardinier,  and  some  dan- 
dies more  exclusive  and  insolent  than  Cheshire,  who 
have  no  merit  equal  to  the  fearless  horsemanship  of 
the  former,  and  the  savoir  vivre  of  the  latter,  and  who 
are  more  assuming  and  ridiculous,  than  either." 

"  Of  course,  and  their  name  is  not  one  or  two,  but 
legion,"  said  the  Virginian,  laughing ;  "  but,  once 
more,  how  comes  it  that  you  always  locate,  as  we 
should  say,  your  American  characters  so  well  ?  You 
ask  me  that  question  about  New  York,  and  perforce  I 
am  bound  to  answer  '  ay !'  Had  you  put  the  same 
about  Boston,  or  Philadelphia,  or  any  of  our  southern 
cities,  I  could,  perhaps,  have  conscientiously  said  '  no.' 
How  is  it,  Matuschevitz  ?" 

"I  told  you  before,"  said  the  count,  laughing, 
"  que  eest  mon  metier  a  moi,  en  qualite  de  diplomat, 
and  who  knows  perhaps  en  qualite  de  Russe  aussi,  or 
as  you  would  term  it  at  a  public  meeting,  as  a  Boos- 
sian  Barbarian,  to  know  something  about  all  countries 
with  which  we  have  or  may  chance  to  have  foreign  re- 
lations. De  plus,  we  have  had  two  or  three  people  of 
our  own  among  you  who  have  seen  something  of  soci- 
ety in  America,  and  have  marked  the  differences  be- 
tween the  different  cities,  so  that  we  are  not  so  igno- 
rant of  the  great  New  York  fashionables — the  J — eses, 
and  M — ns,  and  J — dds,  and  P — ans,  H — nies,  and 
S — ras,  and  all  the  other  tailors  and  candle-makers, 
and  slave-traders,  and  chandlers,  who  are  too  aristo- 


A  TPtOT,  AXD  A  DINNER  PARTY.  75 

cratic  to  know  common  lawyers,  or  authors,  or  physi- 
cians— as  you  would  suppose  us  to  be.  But  enough 
of  this  for  the  present  at  least.  Let  us  go  dress  ;  and 
then  at  least  if  you  don't  admire  the  noble  men,  I'll 
make  a  bet  of  it  I  show  you  something  to  admire  in 
the  noble  women  of  England,  two  of  the  very  loveliest 
of  whom  you  will  meet  to-night." 

Half  an  hour  sufficed  for  the  appareling  in  all  due 
form  of  our  friends  for  the  dinner  party,  and  a  drive 
of  ten  minutes  or  more  in  a  Russian  phaeton  brought 
them  to  Cheshire's  hunting  quarters ;  and  nothing, 
perhaps,  that  he  had  yet  seen,  so  much  moved  Fair- 
fax's admiration  of  the  thoroughness  of  English  system, 
as  the  furnitui-e,  the  inhabitableness,  the  keeping,  tout 
ensemble,  and  the  complete  domestic  air  of  this,  a  mere 
hunting-box  for  three  or  four  months  of  the  season, 
which  in  all  respects  resembled  the  permanent  abode 
and  accustomed  residence  of  some  rich  proprietor.  It 
was  small,  indeed,  but  every  part  was  unexceptionably 
perfect ;  the  ladies'  drawing-rooms  full  of  bijouterie 
and  trinkets,  of  feminine  work  and  feminine  accom- 
plishments, redolent  of  those  delicate  sounds,  sights, 
accompaniments,  and  odors,  which  ever  announce  and 
accompany  the  presence  of  high-bred,  refined  and  ac- 
complished women — the  other  rooms  replete  with 
every  thing  that  could  be  possibly  desu-ed,  yet  showing 
no  superfluity  of  any  thing,  not  only  attracted  his  at- 
tention and  pleased  his  fancy,  but  elicited  from  him 
some  self-admitted  satisfaction  with  that  standard  Eng- 
lish principle  of  doing  every  thing  that  it  is  worth  the 
while  to  do  at  all,  as  well  as  it  possibly  can  be  done, 
and  in  one  place  as  well  as  another. 

When  the  ladies,  too,  made  their  appearance,  he 
could  not  but  admit  the  truth  of  Matuschevitz's  boast 
that  he  would  show  him  two  of  the  loveliest  women  he 
had  ever  looked  upon,  and  neither  while  he  gazed  upon 
their  charms,  and  laughed  and  talked  merry  and  soft 


76 

nonsense  witli  them,  nor  when  lie  pondered  over  the 
different  styles  of  their  extraordinary  loveliness,  could 
he  bring  to  his  recollection  any  thing  so  fair  as  either 
of  the  two  sisters,  much  less  any  thing  fairer  nor  could 
he  make  up  his  mind  which  was  the  lovelier  of  the  two. 

The  dark-ringleted  and  dark-browed  Cheshire,  with 
her  wild,  flashing,  dark  eyes  full  of  unearthly  spiritual 
light,  her  high  and  somewhat  attenuated  features,  her 
slender,  graceful  figure,  her  high-born  air,  and  proud, 
majestic  gait,  that  seemed  almost  too  proudly  delicate 
to  tread  the  earth  which  might  mar  the  divinity  of  her 
footsteps. 

The  soft,  voluptuous  Isabella  A*,  with  her  great, 
full  blue  eyes,  her  skin  whiter  than  mountain  snow, 
yet  flushed  with  a  rosy  lustre  as  of  the  sunset  on  the 
stainless  glaciers  of  Mont  Blanc ;  her  lips  ripe  as  a 
peach  in  August,  and  rich  as  the  tints  of  a  clove  car- 
nation ;  her  plump  and  falling  shoulders,  her  exquisite 
and  womanly  bust,  round  arms,  and  glorious  figure — 
oh  !  pair  not  to  be  surpassed,  not  to  be  equaled  in  your 
day,  from  east  to  west,  from  north  to  south,  round  the 
wide  world ;  years  have  elapsed,  the  fourth  part  of  a 
century  has  rolled  over,  since  first  I  saw  your  maiden 
sister  bloom,  out-dazzling  the  eyes  of  all  beholders, 
out-shining  all  the  rivalry  of  loveliest  coeval  beauties. 
Wives  now,  and  happy  mothers,  with  daughters  scarce 
so  lovely  as  yourselves,  glittering  and  enthralling 
where  ye  shone  enchantresses  of  old,  I  think  of  ye, 
but  as  I  saw  ye  last,  ere  time  or  sorrow,  which  must 
be  to  all  mortals,  had  dimmed  one  sparkle  of  those  lus- 
trous eyes,  or  blanched  one  hair  of  those  glorious 
tresses,  lovely  ye  must  be  still,  and  lustrous  ;  but  with  a 
loveliness  and  lustre  different  from  what  I  then  beheld, 
diff'erent  from  what  yet  a  little  later  than  I,  Percy 
Fairfax  beheld,  and  would  have  perhaps  loved  to  ad- 
miration and  to  madness,  but  that  he  was  saved  by  the 
presence  of  two  beings  exquisitely,  yet  how  equally 


A  TROT,  AND  A  DINNER  PARTY.  77 

bright,  and  with  a  brightness  how  wondrously  dis- 
similar. 

The  evening  passed  like  a  dream,  nor  did  the  young 
Virginian  feel  himself  for  a  moment  out  of  place,  or  a 
stranger  at  that  table,  so  distant  far  from  his  own 
home,  so  different  in  all  things  from  the  wildest  and 
most  romantic  of  his  imaginings.  It  needs  not  to  say 
that  the  cuisine,  the  wines,  the  every  thing  was  ex- 
quisite, when  Cheshire  was  the  host,  the  guests  Beau- 
fort and  Forrester,  Anson,  the  two  McDonalds,  Jem 
and  Aleck,  and  with  the  world-famous  Alvanley,  be- 
sides our  hero,  and  those  two  radiant  sisters. 

It  was  a  late  hour  before  they  broke  up,  for  the 
gentlemen  followed  the  ladies  to  the  drawing-room 
early,  and  music  and  singing  were  interchanged  with 
ecarte  and  chicken-hazard ;  and  it  was  not  until  he 
awoke  next  morning  from  dreams  of  Cheshire's  bright 
eyes,  and  Isabella's  glowing  form,  that  Fairfax  recol- 
lected that  during  the  whole  evening  in  that  the  me- 
tropolis of  horsemanship  and  the  chase,  there  had  been 
no  fields  fought  over  again,  nor  any  mention  of  fox- 
hunting or  of  hunters. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   COVERT   SIDE. 

Had  every  thing  been  prepared  to  order,  with  a 
view  of  gratifying  to  the  utmost  the  wishes  of  the 
keen  assembled  fox-hunters,  it  could  not  have  been 
improved  on  the  Monday  morning  succeeding  Fair- 
fax's arrival  at  Melton  Mowbray. 

There  had  been  rain  enough  during  the  past  days 
to  render  the  country  more  suitable  for  holding  scent, 
and  yet  not  enough  to  make  it  inconveniently  heavy 
for  horses  of  sufficient  stamina.  It  was  precisely  such 
a  dawn  as  is  prescribed  in  the  famous  old  hunting  song, 
for  "a  southerly  wind  and  a  cloudy  sky  "  did,  indeed, 
"proclaim  it  a  hunting  morning;"  nor  was  there  a 
single  dew-drop  gemming  the  thorn-bushes,  or  any  of 
that  low-creeping  mist  on  the  low  grounds,  or  rising 
net-work  on  the  grass,  which  augur  badly  for  the  lying 
of  the  scent,  inasmuch  as  while  the  process  of  exhala- 
tion is  going  on,  it  would  appear  that  the  delicate  par- 
ticles which  hold  the  effluvium  of  the  beast  of  chase  in 
suspense,  are  exhaled  likewise  together  with  the  watery 
globules  among  which  it  was  deposited. 

At  an  early  hour — early  for  them,  be  it  understood, 
for  it  is  not  now  the  mode  of  Melton  to  get  up  as  our 
forefathers  did,  hours  before  the  sun,  and  painfully 
hunt  up  the  cold  trail  of  the  fox  to  his  lair — when 
Matuschevitz  and  his  friend  were  aroused  by  the  valet 
with  shaving  water  and  the  needfuls  of  the  toilet,  the 
word  went  that  the  sun  had  shone  brightly  an  hour  or 
two  before — that  is  to  say  an  hour  or  two  after  his 
late  December  rising — but  that  the  sky  was  now  all 
(IS) 


A   COVERT  SIDE.  79 

overclouded,  and  tlie  south-westerly  wind  as  soft  as  if 
it  were  young  May  and  not  mid-winter. 

Half  past  nine  found  them  in  the  breakfast-parlor, 
similarly  rigged  in  plain  scarlet  dress-coats,  white 
kerseymere  waistcoats,  white  buckskin  breeches,  and 
top-boots,  with  blue-bird's-eye  handkerchiefs  about 
their  necks — the  true  dress,  and  the  only  true  one  for 
the  genuine  Meltonian— though  a  few  years  before  the 
time  of  which  I  write,  it  was  the  fashion  to  run  down 
the  leathers  as  snobbish,  and  to  vote  nothing  correct 
but  white  cords— and  the  handsomest  dress,  be  it  ob- 
served, in  the  wide  world  for  a  well-made  man,  whether 
sportsman  or  no. 

There  was  no  necessity  under  the  sun  for  hurrying, 
since  more  3Ieltonico  the  hounds  do  not  meet  until 
eleven,  nor  are  thrown  into  covert  until  half-after,  or 
by'r  lady  !  nearer  twelve. 

''Very  well — very  well,  faith!"  said  the  count, 
laughing,  as  the  Virginian  made  his  entree  perfectly 
self-possessed  and  quiet.  "  You  look  as  if  you  had  been 
born  in  pink  and  leathers,  as  I  believe  Osbaldiston 
was,  and  Sir  Tatton  into  the  bargain,  for  that  matter ; 
though  I  would  lay  a  hundred  to  a  shilling  you  never 
had  a  top-boot  on  your  leg  before  in  your  life." 

"  You  may  swear  to  that,  count.  But  these  fellows 
get  one  up  with  no  trouble  to  himself  whatever." 

"Trust  them  for  that,"  replied  Matuschevitz,  "with 
Pike  and  Elphick  for  his  leathers,  Dean  and  Davis  for 
his  tops,  and  Stultz,  Willis,  or  Nugee  for  the  rest  of 
his  outfit,  one  may  be  pretty  sure  of  not  putting  his 
foot  in  it.     By  the  w^ay,  whose  saddles  do  you  use  ?" 

"  Whipple's,  of  course.  I  used  his  saddlery  long 
enough  before  I  left  Virginia,  and  I  should  hardly  cut 
him  here.  Give  me  a  cup  of  black  tea  while  you  are 
about  it,  I  don't  go  the  cafe"  in  a  morning — some  of 
that  prawn  curry,  Antoine,  and  a  slice  of  that  dry 
toast." 


80  A  COVERT   SIDE. 

"Lay  in  a  good  stock,  Fairfax;  no  luncheon  to- 
day, recollect ;  and  as  likely  as  not,  a  late  dinner  to 
boot." 

"  How  far  off  is  the  meet — uck — uckle — what  the 
devil  do  you  call  it  ?  It  is  as  bad  as  some  of  our  Vir- 
ginian names,  which  stuck  so  fearfully  in  poor  Tommy 
Moore's  jaws.' 

''Uckleby  Gorse.  Why  yes,  it  is  almost  as  great  a 
jaw-breaker  as  '  Rappahannock,'  '  Occoquan.'  Oh  ! 
not  more  than  eight  miles  off.  We  can  do  it  in  half 
an  hour  easy.  If  we  get  off  by  eleven,  or  a  quarter 
before,  it  will  be  lots  of  time.  What  horse  do  you 
ride  first,  Fairfax?" 

"  'White  Moonbeam '  for  my  first ;  and  *  Thunder- 
bolt,' brother  or  half  brother,  or  whatever  he  is,  to 
'Slasher,'  for  my  second." 

"No  one  better  mounted  in  the  whole  field  than 
you  will  be.  Only  mind  you  don't  discredit  them. 
Give  me  a  wing  of  that  cold  partridge,  will  you ;  and, 
Antoine,  a  glass  of  the  white  Maraschino.  Now,  par- 
don my  giving  you  a  word  or  two  of  advice  mon  chere, 
as  I  am  an  old  hand  here,  and  you  a  novice ;  not  that 
I  doubt  you  can  sit  and  manage  a  horse  as  well  at 
least,  very  likely  better  than  I  can  myself;  but  there 
are  two  or  three  things  that  it  will  be  just  as  well  you 
are  put  up  to.  In  the  first  place,  nothing  is  so  desi- 
rable for  a  man,  who  wants  to  take  his  own  line  and 
go  well  to  the  hounds,  as  to  get  a  good  start,  for  then 
you  are  out  of  the  crowd  in  a  twinkling,  and  can  get 
away  with  them  handsomely  without  being  either 
crossed  at  your  fences,  or  ridden  over,  if  you  chance 
to  get  a  fall." 

"  I  see — I  see ;  but  the  how — show  us  the  how, 
count." 

"  Why,  as  soon  as  the  fox  is  holloaed  away,  get  re- 
solutely forward  at  once  ;  let  nothing  stop  you ;  bet- 
tor take  two  or  three  big  ugly  fences  in  cold  blood  at 


A  COVERT   SIDE.  81 

first,  when  other  people,  not  liking  them,  are  jamming 
the  gateways,  and  blocking  up  the  bridges,  than  twice 
as  many  later  in  the  day." 

*'  Well,  that  is  easily  done  enough.  Who  is  the  best 
man  to  look  to  ?  I  don't  mean  to  follow,  you  know, 
but  to  look  to  for  the  direction  in  which  the  fox  is 
heading  before  the  hounds  are  out  of  covert." 

^'  Oh,  there's  half  a  dozen !  None  better  than  Val. 
Magher,  or  Harry  Goodriche,  or  Frank  Holyoke,  or 
Campbell  of  Saddell — any  of  these  are  good  as  gold; 
but  pin  your  faith  on  the  sleeve  of  no  man.  Ride 
hard  and  ride  steady.  Lay  yourself  forty  or  fifty 
yards  to  leeward,  nearly  abreast  of  the  leading  hound, 
but  perhaps  thirty  yards  or  so  back  of  him.  Keep 
your  eye  on  him  all  the  time,  and  as  he  turns,  so  tui^n 
you;  and  look  out  if  he  throws  up  his  head,  or  turns 
short  upon  you,  hold  hard — pull  your  horse  short  up 
on  the  instant." 

"Any  thing  more ?" 

"  Not  much.  Take  your  fences  as  you  find  them. 
No  time  for  looking  out  for  easy  places.  Hold  your 
horse's  head  hard  and  straight  at  it,  and  if  it  needs 
be,  cram  him.  Take  care  to  cross  no  man's  line, 
'specially  at  a  fence.  If  there  is  a  check,  jump  down 
from  your  saddle  and  turn  your  nag's  nose  to  the 
wind,  if  it  be  but  for  a  minute.  It  shall  be  w^orth  a 
mile  to  you  in  a  long  run.  You  see  I  don't  fear  for 
your  nerves,  but  only  for  your  knowledge  of  this 
English  science — for  to  ride  w^ell  to  fox-hounds  is  a 
science,  and  a  hard  one  too,  I  assure  you." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  good  opinion,  and  I  do  not 
think  you  need  fear  me  on  that  score  ;  if  I  were 
inclined  to  be  nervous,  it  would  be  rather  at  the  idea 
of  doing  a  gaucherie,  or,  as  your  friends  here  would 
call  it,  something  snobbish,  than  of  getting  a  fall  at  a 
rasper.'* 

"  Or  of  coming  to  grief,  colonel." 
174 


82  A  COVERT  SIDE. 

"  Coming  to  grief — ah  !  tliero  you  are  too  mucli  foi 
me,  count.  Coming  to  grief — and  what  may  that  be, 
I  prithee?" 

"  Why,  you  will  understand,  my  good  friend,  that 
in  modern  fox-hunting,  we  ride  no  longer,  as  they  did 
in  King  George  the  Third's  day,  when  the  man  who 
came  in  first  at  the  death,  it  mattered  not  how,  per- 
haps by  riding  all  the  lanes,  cutting  off  corners,  and 
shirking  fences,  by  knowledge  of  the  country,  was  the 
best  man,  and  won  the  honors  of  the  day.  Nous 
avons  change  tout  celd,  now-a-days,  and  the  best  man 
is  he  who  lives  longest,  nearest  to  the  hounds,  riding 
his  own  line  manfully  and  straight,  no  matter  for  his 
jdace  at  the  end,  though,  of  course,  he  who  is  best 
from  first  to  last,  is  the  best  of  all.  When  you  fall 
into  the  second  flight,  when  you  get  so  thrown  out, 
either  by  such  a  false  turn,  or  such  a  fall  as  prevents 
your  being  in  the  same  field  w^ith  the  hounds,  or  if 
your  horse  stands  still,  or  dies,  you  are  said  to  come 
to  grief.  But  some  one  must  come  to  grief,  remember, 
always ;  and  if  it  do  not  happen  till  at  the  butt-end 
of  a  severe  burst,  or  if  it  be  by  an  unavoidable  mishap, 
there  is  no  shame  in  it — it  may  be  in  case  of  a  very 
bold,  though  unsuccessful  leap,  the  reverse." 

"I  see.  I  shall  try  not  to  come  to  grief,  then,  in 
the  first  field,  or  at  the  very  first  fence.  That,  I  sup- 
pose, will  save  a  novus  homo  from  ridicule." 

"A  novus  is  never  ridiculed  here,  if  he  rides  boldly, 
and  makes  a  good  offer  at  his  own  line.  Every  one 
here  knows  that  riding  well  to  fox-hounds  requires  a 
great  many  combinations — a  very  bold  heart,  a  very 
light  hand,  a  very  firm  seat,  and  these  three  are 
nothing,  unless  combined  with  a  very  quick  eye,  a 
very  cool  head,  and  a  very  clear  judgment.  So  that 
for  every  stranger  who  goes  tolerably,  ten  go  wretch- 
edly at  the  first  start ;  and  if  one  give  himself  no  airs, 
commit   no    absurdities,   but   bo   simple,    frank,   and 


A  COVERT  SIDE.  83 

manly,  lie  will  get  on  at  Melton  past  a  doubt,  and 
make  both  acquaintances  and  friends,  even  though  he 
came  unintroduced  and  a  stranger." 

^'  I  note  your  advice,  and  will  take  it.  But  I  see 
our  hacks  are  before  the  windows,  and  here  comes 
James  with  our  hats  and  overhauls.  Hand  me  that 
taper,  and  I  will  light  a  cigar ;  then,  unless  you  have 
still  another  last  word,  let  us  be  off.  I  want  to  be 
at  work,  and  I  am  dying  for  a  look  at  the  lady-pack." 

" I  have  a  last  word — but  one.  Here  it  is;  remem- 
ber, the  worst  thing  you  can  do  is  to  refuse  a  neces- 
sary fence,  because  that  looks  like  funking.  The 
next  worst  is  to  take  an  unnecessary  one,  because  that 
looks  like  display,  which  is  snobbish,  and  takes  the 
powder  out  of  your  prad,  which  is,  or  may  be, 
ruinous.  And  now  to  horse  and  away!  and  see, 
there  go  Beaufort  and  Forrester,  and  here  come  the 
McDonalds,  and  half  Melton  at  their  back — away ! 
deuce  take  the  hindmost." 

The  hacks  were,  indeed,  waiting — and  two  cleverer 
or  better  need  not  to  be  bestridden  by  mortal  man ; 
Fairfax's  was  a  switch-tailed  iron  gray,  quite  thorough- 
bred; and  though  a  little  pertaining  to  that  type 
of  beast  which  is  familiarly  known  as  a  weed,  being 
somewhat  ewe-necked,  and  a  little  tucked-up  in  the 
flank,  it  yet  had  so  very  many  good  points  in  the 
long,  sloping  shoulder,  the  deep  and  roomy  chest,  and 
the  breadth  of  its  loins,  beside  having  four  as  good 
legs  under  it  as  often  falls  to  a  covert-hack,  after  its 
second  season,  that  none  but  a  very  superficial  obser- 
ver would  have  apprehended  its  sufficiency  to  carry 
even  a  heavier  weight  than  that  of  Fairfax  for  a  short 
distance. 

Matuschevitz  did  not  on  this  occasion  bring  his 
Cossack,  Moscow,  into  play,  but  backed  a  powerful 
chestnut  trotting  cob,  for  which  style  of  monture^  a 


84  A  COVERT  SIDE. 

good  deal  to  tlic  wonderment  of  the  Meltonians,  he 
had  no  inconsiderable  penchant. 

Meanwhile  their  cigars  were  lighted,  their  heavers 
donned  and  secured  by  a  black  ribbon  to  the  collars 
of  their  pinks,  their  buckskin  gloves  had  been  assumed, 
and  the  hunting-whips,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  the 
stocks  of  the  hunting-whips,  minus  the  thongs,  thrust 
under  the  left  arm  as  they  mounted ;  and  just  as  a  clat- 
tering cavalcade,  all  in  scarlet  jackets,  with  cloth  spat- 
terdashes over  their  bo:>ts  and  white  leathers,  came 
tearing  down  the  street  at  a  hard  gallop,  smoking  like 
as  many  animated  steam-engines,  they,  too,  wheeled 
from  their  door  to  the  left,  and  then  to  the  right,  and 
greeted  by  a  merry  shout  of  gratulation,  rode  onward 
merrily,  surrounded  by  that  gay  and  goodly  companye, 
on  the  high  road  toward  Lincoln. 

After  they  had  ridden  perhaps  a  couple  of  miles, 
the  party,  consisting  of  Aleck  and  Jem  McDonald, 
than  whom  two  better  fellows  never  rode,  Tom  and 
Dick  Gascoigne,  Horace  Pitt  and  Harry  Peyton,  be- 
sides our  friends,  the  Virginian  and  the  hunting  diplo- 
matist, just  as  they  were  slackening  their  pace  a  little, 
seeing  that  there  was  a  toll-gate  just  ahead,  which, 
with  the  hounds  not  running,  it  behooves  every  man 
to  pay,  there  came  a  harsh  cheer  from  behind,  and  as 
two  or  three  of  the  company  turned  in  their  saddles  to 
see  who  or  what  was  come,  the  short  and  slender  form 
of  Jardinier  was  seen  bending  over  the  withers  of  a 
neat  black  filly,  which  he  was  spurring  furiously  along 
in  mad  emulation,  seeking,  although  there  was  not  the 
slightest  hurry,  to  overtake  those  ahead  of  him,  till 
she  was  covered  from  counter  to  tail  with  white  lather. 

"Just  like  Jardinier,"  said  Cecil  Forrester,  "  cursing 
her  with  all  his  breath  at  every  dig  of  his  spurs,  I'd 
almost  take  my  oath.     What  a  d — d  shame!" 

"I  almost  wish  she'd  break  his  neck,"  said  another. 
"I'm  sure  he  richly  deserves  it." 


A  COVERT  SIDE.  85 

As  the  last  charitable  wish  was  uttered,  the  party- 
had  all  pulled  up  in  front  of  the  gate,  about  opening 
which,  from  some  not  very  apparent  reason,  there  waa 
some  little  delay,  when  a  second  shout  from  Jardinier 
made  them  first  turn  round  for  the  second  time,  and 
then  open  their  ranks  in  haste,  moving  to  the  right 
and  left  in  order  to  make  way  for  the  madman. 

"Out  of  the  way!  out  of  the  way!"  he  shrieked; 
*'d — n  it  all,  are  you  afraid  of  a  little  gate  like  that, 
or  do  you  funk  the  pike-man.  Out  of  the  way,  and 
let  me  show  you  how  to  do  it!" 

They  scattered  at  the  cry,  for  knowing  the  reckless 
character  of  the  rough-rider,  they  were  well  assured 
that  the  next  minute  he'd  be  in  the  thick  of  them;  and 
on  he  came  at  full  speed,  over  the  hard  Macadamized 
road,  intending  evidently  to  take  the  stiff  five-barred 
gate  in  his  strike. 

"  Don't,  Jardinier,  don't — what  folly  !"  cried  Lord 
McDonald,  holding  up  his  hand  to  wave  him  back. 
"He's  opening  the  gate  now." 

But  the  warning  was  all  in  vain  to  one  who  never 
in  his  life  gave  any  heed  to  warning.  On  he  came  at 
full  tilt,  giving  the  black  mare  the  spur,  and  lifted  her 
at  the  leap  with  a  sort  of  cheer.  Bravely  she  rose, 
and  although  half-blown,  and  put  full  too  fast  at  it, 
would  certainly  have  cleared  the  gate  ;  but  in  the  very 
point  of  time  when  she  rose  at  it,  the  turnpike-keeper 
unconscious  of  what  was  passing,  having  received  from 
Matuschevitz  payment  for  the  whole  party,  flung  the 
gate  open,  so  that  it  swung  out  directly  in  front  of  the 
filly  as  she  took  it.  No  horse  that  ever  was  foaled  of 
a  mare  could  now  have  got  over  in  safety ;  and  after 
a  fruitless  writhing  scramble  to  clear  herself  of  the 
obstacle,  she  went  down  on  her  knees  and  nose  on  the 
hard  stony  road,  on  the  farther  side,  breaking  the 
former  fearfully,  and  throwing  her  rider  on  his  head 
with  such  violence  that  his  hat  flattened  like  a  crushed 


86  A  COVERT  SIDE. 

efrg-sliell,  and  that  he,  after  stretching  out  his  arms 
with  a  deep  groan,  lay  stunned  and  senseless.  In  an 
instant  the  whole  party  was  dismounted  and  around 
the  sufferer ;  and  Tom  Gascoigne,  whose  words  had  so 
strangely  coincided  with  the  occurrence,  and  were  so 
widely  at  variance  from  his  warm  feelings  and  kind 
heart,  was  prodigal  of  his  care  and  assistance. 

"Poor  fellow!  poor  fellow!"  said  he,  "I  am  afraid 
he  is  gone,  indeed,  and  forever !  bring  water  some  of 
you,  for  God's  sake." 

A  bucket  was  speedily  appropriated,  and  on  the 
application  of  a  very  sufficient  dose  of  cold  water,  the 
patient  soon  opened  his  eyes,  stretched  himself,  and  a 
moment  afterward  stood  erect  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened, giving  the  earliest  symptom  of  a  return  to  his 
senses,  not  by  thanks  to  the  friends  around  him,  but 
by  a  deep  and  beastly  oath  at  the  unfortunate  beast 
which  had  given  him  the  fall,  and  which,  though  inno- 
cent, was  by  far  worse  hurt  than  her  merciless  and 
reckless  master. 

So  soon  as  it  was  ascertained  that  the  fellow — for 
if  he  were  a  peer,  he  was  no  less  a  fellow,  and  a  low 
one — had  sustained  no  serious  hurt,  not  one  of  the 
party  felt  the  slightest  sympathy  for  him,  or  desire  to 
assist  him  further,  but  mounting  as  quickly  as  they 
could  they  rode  off  at  a  hard  gallop  toward  Uckleby, 
leaving  him  plante  la  beside  his  lame  hack,  wondering 
how  the  deuce  he  should  get  to  covert,  and  swearing 
furiously  at  the  idea  of  being  late  for  the  meet,  until 
when  his  patience  and  his  hopes  had  both  well  nigh 
expired,  a  phaeton  came  up  from  Meltonwards,  con- 
taining two  or  three  of  his  acquaintances,  who  gave 
him  a  seat,  leaving  his  poor  hack  to  such  accommoda- 
tion as  the  cow-stable  of  the  turnpike  could  afford, 
until  the  man  who  had  charge  of  his  hunter  should  re- 
turn for  her. 

Meantime  Faiifax  and  the  rest  had  pricked  gayly 


A  COVERT  SIDE.  87 

but  steadily  onward,  until  at  tlie  distance  of  about  a 
mile,  to  the  left  of  the  road,  they  got  the  first  sight 
of  Uckleby  Gorse,  a  long,  irregular,  straggling  furze 
covert,  stretching  along  the  northern  brow'  of  a  gentle 
acclivity  with  a  few  tall  old  trees  scattered  here  and 
there  above  the  low  undergrowth,  but  nothing  that 
one  could  call  a  wood. 

Even  at  this  distance  the  scene  was  gay  and  ani- 
mated in  the  extreme,  and  such  as  no  other  land  but 
England  ever  has  exhibited,  or  probably  ever  will  ex- 
hibit. In  a  large  grass-field,  divided  by  two  or  three 
enclosures  from  the  covert,  and  containing  at  least 
fifty  acres  of  pasture,  the  many-colored  and  glossy 
pack  were  slowly  parading  to  and  fro,  to  the  number 
of  full  five-and-twenty  couple,  not  varying  an  inch  in 
stature  between  the  highest  and  lowest,  and  so  well 
matched  in  speed  and  strength  that  they  could  run 
together  on  a  breast-high  scent  through  the  longest 
run,  in  as  close  array  as  ever  flew  a  plump  wild  fowl. 
These  were  attended  by  no  less  than  four  men,  a 
huntsman  and  three  whips,  easily  distinguished  from 
the  field  by  their  scarlet  frocks  and  round  caps,  in 
addition  to  the  master,  no  less  a  personage  than  the 
far-famed  Squire  Osbaldiston,  who  hunted  them  in 
person,  and  now  sat  a  little  way  aloof,  clad  like  his 
men,  and  mounted  on  nothing  less  than  the  far-famed 
and  almost  immortal  Clasher,  who  probabl}^,  in  his  day, 
was  the  best  hunter  j>ar  excellence  of  all  that  went  to 
hounds  in  England. 

He  was  surrounded  by  a  group  of  veterans,  easily 
recognized,  even  at  a  distance,  by  some  peculiarities 
of  size,  form,  or  dress,  and  who  turned  out  to  be  Lord 
Alvanley,  conspicuous  then  for  his  jack-boots  a  la 
Horse-guards,  at  that  time  worn  by  him  alone  in  Eng^ 
land ;  Valentine  Magher,  the  king  of  the  heavy 
weights ;  Campbell  of  Saddell,  the  best  son  of  tho 
Gael,   Kintore   not   excepted,   that   ever   cramuied  t> 


88  A  COVERT  SIDE. 

thorougli-bred  at  an  impracticable  fence  ;  Sir  Harry 
Goodriche  and  Sir  Richard  Musgrave,  crack  riders, 
and  good  sportsmen  both,  arcades  ambo,  both  true 
Yorkshire  tykes ;  Jem  Baird,  longer  of  limb  than 
Longshank  was  of  old  ;  George  Payne ;  and  Bellamy, 
characteristically  employed  in  fighting  with  a  horse, 
which  seemed  to  be  almost  as  wicked  and  ill-tempered 
as  himself;  and  half  a  dozen  others  of  less  note  in  the 
general  sporting  world,  although  well  known  at  Mel- 
ton, and  thence  to  the  broad  waters  of  the  brimming 
Trent. 

In  the  foreground  of  the  animated  picture  at  least  a 
hundred  grooms  were  leading  to  and  fro  as  many  no- 
ble hunters  in  their  body-clothes,  awaiting  the  arrival 
of  their  masters,  who  as  they  dropped  in  one  by  one 
— and  they  might  be  seen  on  all  sides,  skurrying  in 
across  the  country,  like  so  many  shooting-stars,  all 
concentrating  toward  a  common  nucleus — doffed  over- 
coats, and  Macintoshes,  and  mud  boots,  and  turned 
out  as  spick  and  span  as  if  for  a  huntball,  mounted 
their  horses,  glittering  as  if  their  skins  were  of  shot 
satin  or  highly  burnished  metal,  and  formed  little 
groups,  the  coffee-house  of  the  hunting-field  ;  wherein, 
as  the  ladies  are  wont  to  insist,  more  scandal  is  talked, 
and  more  characters  are  ruined,  than  in  the  most  gos- 
siping cotery  of  antiquated  spinsters  that  ever  congre- 
gated round  a  village  fire  to  stimulate  their  acerbities 
with  cogniac  and  lubricate  their  excess  with  hyson. 
Be  that,  however,  as  it  may,  it  was  a  brilliant  and 
soul-stirring  spectacle,  if  regarded  as  a  spectacle  alone, 
the  rather  that  in  addition  to  all  that  has  been  de- 
scribed there  were  six  or  eight  phaetons,  pony-curri- 
cles, and  barouches,  filled  with  the  fairest  of  the  fair, 
pre-eminent  among  whom  were  the  magnificent  daugh- 
ters of  the  ducal  house  of  Rutland,  each  surrounded 
by  a  chosen  knot  of  adorers,  as  it  would  seem,  beyond 
measure,    bj   the    "becks   and    nods   and   wreathed 


A  COVERT  SIDE.  89 

smiles,"  of  the  delighted  delicate  hcings  ^\ho  disdained 
not  to  be  observers  of  the  rude  sports,  and  witnesses 
of  the  pluck  and  peril  of  their  admirers. 

By  this  time  Matuschevitz  and  the  Virginian  had 
betaken  themselves  to  their  hunters,  after  looking  duly 
and  warily  to  the  length  of  stirrup-leathers,  the 
strength  and  tightness  of  girths,  and  all  those  nice 
minutiae  which  may  not  be  neglected  save  at  severest 
risk  of  a  fall ;  a  thing  never  desirable,  and  no  where 
less  so  than  at  Melton,  where  it  is,  unless  a  fortunate 
check  intervene  seasonably,  almost  synonymous  with 
the  loss  of  a  place  in  the  run  ;  and  the  count  being 
well  horsed  on  a  fine  brown  hunter  by  Lottery,  while 
Fairfax  bestrode  "Moonbeam"  with  his  Tiger  upon 
"  Thunderbolt,"  the  nigh  of  kin  to  Valentine  Magher's 
famous  Slasher,  they  had  no  reason  to  fear  their  ina- 
bility, cseteris  jyai^ibus,  to  go  in  the  first  flight,  and  live 
as  long  as  their  neighbors. 

"  "  The  first  words  that  the  Russian  spoke,  were, 
"  Just  in  the  right  time,  by  Jove  !  Osbaldiston  look- 
ing at  his  watch.  Yes !  now  he  nods  to  Jack  Ste- 
vens— they'll  be  in  covert  in  five  minutes  or  less. 
Come  along  Fairfax  !" 

Then  as  the  other  followed  him  easily,  but  promptly, 
toward  the  hounds,  he  turned  in  his  saddle  to  his 
friend,  and  said  laughingly,  ''  Ah,  ha !  you'll  have  to 
win  your  laurels  before  you  wear  them  to-day,  my  gal- 
lant colonel,  for  yonder  I  see  Valentine  is  mounted  on 
the  very  horse  they  were  talking  about  in  our  stables 
yesterday.  There  he  goes — that's  Slasher — and  nei- 
ther he  nor  his  master  are  very  easy  to  beat,  I  can  tell 
you." 

"  He  is  very  heavy  to  look  at  it,  whatever  he  may 
be  to  go,"  answered  the  Virginian. 

"  Don't  plume  yourself  too  much  on  your  weight, 
I'd  advise  you.  It  is  a  common  saying  here  that  the 
feather-weights  take  more  out  of  their  horses  by  rash 


90  A  COVERT  SIDE. 

riding  than  makes  up  the  difference  between  them- 
selves and  the  welters.  Ah,  how  do  Goodricke  ? 
Ilolyoke,  how  are  you  ?  Fine  scenting  morning,  I 
fancy.  Let  me  name  Colonel  Fairfax,  Sir  Harry 
Goodricke,  Sir  Francis  Holyoke." 

And  they  all  rode  on  together,  chatting  about  any 
thing  rather  than  the  business  of  the  hour.  Jardinier'a 
absurd  riding  and  heavy  fall  not  being  forgotten. 

"  How  like  him,"  said  Ilolyoke.  "  Well,  if  he  get 
here  in  time,  I  would  not  be  his  horse  for  something  ; 
whenever  he  gets  a  fall  before  we  find  he  rides  as  if 
he  were  possessed  by  the  very  fiend  incarnate." 

"  Tliis  way,"  said  Goodricke,  turning  his  horse's 
head  abruptly  to  the  right,  as  they  entered  the  field 
immediately  adjoining  the  gorse-covert,  while  Osbal- 
diston  and  the  hounds,  which  were  a  hundred  yards  or 
so  ahead,  diverged  a  little  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"  This  way.  They'll  cast  them  in  at  the  south- 
west corner,  and  draw  this  way." 

"  All  right,"  said  Matuschevitz,  nodding  to  him. 
"  We'll  join  you  in  five  minutes ;  but  I  fancy  my 
friend  here  would  like  to  see  them  draw — we'll  go 
along  with  the  hounds,  Fairfax." 

"Very  well,"  said  Goodricke, laughing,  "but  you'll 
have  to  make  up  for  it  by  and  bye,  I  can  tell  you ; 
for  he's  sure  to  go  away  down  wind  this  morning,  the 
more  so  that  the  wind  and  the  hill  are  together." 

The  hunting  plenipotentiary  nodded  again,  and  rode 
away  after  the  Squire,  while  Fairfax  observed  that  fall 
nine-tenths  of  the  sportsmen  did  the  same,  though  a 
few,  and  those  the  men  who  had  been  pointed  out  to 
him  as  the  best  men,  first  loitered  behind  in  groups, 
and  then  sauntered  slowly  along  in  the  direction  taken 
by  Goodricke  and  his  friends. 

At  the  extreme  southern  angle  of  the  gorse-covert, 
which  was  a  long  hanger,  bounded  on  the  upper  side 
by  a  ditch  and  plashed  hedge,  on  the  further  side,  run- 


A  COVERT  SIDE.  91 

ning  along  the  crest  of  the  hill,  and  sloped  gently 
downAvard  for  the  breadth  of  perhaps  two  hundred 
yards,  while  it  must  have  been  at  least  a  thousand  in 
length,  Osbaldiston  paused,  and  di'awing  in  his  bridle, 
s;U  for  a  few  moments  perfectly  quiescent  in  the  mid- 
dle of  his  hounds,  while  the  field  diverged  a  little  in 
all  directions,  according  to  their  ideas  of  the  chances 
of  a  start. 

The  hounds,  all  perfectly  aware  that  the  decisive 
moment  had  arrived,  stood  gazing  with  full,  eager 
eyes,  heads  erect,  and  waving  sterns,  toward  the  de- 
sired covert;  but  so  perfectly  were  they  disciplined  to 
obey,  that  not  one  stirred  or  attempted  to  move  on, 
nor  did  a  single  whimper  denote  their  intense  eager- 
ness. In  a  moment,  casting  his  eyes  right  and  left  to 
the  second  and  third  whips,  who  instantly  took  their 
cue,  and  rode  off  toward  the  two  lower  angles  of  the 
gorse,  Osbaldiston  waved  his  hand  forward  with  the 
shrill  cry — 

"Eleu!  Eleu  in  !  Eleu!  in,  good  lasses!" 
And  without  one  impatient  cry,  twenty  abreast, 
the  beauties  dashed  at  the  ditch  and  fence,  as  if  by  a 
single  impulse  and  a  single  motion.  It  seemed  to 
Fairfax  that  the  hedge  crashed  but  once,  as  their  lythe, 
sleek,  many-spotted  bodies  were  seen  for  one  instant 
writhing  upon  the  top  as  they  struggled  over  it,  and  were 
then  lost  among  the  dark  green  prickly  foliage,  if  foliage 
it  can  be  called,  of  the  dense  furze.  Without  another 
word,  the  Squire  gave  the  rein  to  Clasher,  and  press- 
ing his  knees  gently  to  his  side,  but  giving  him  no 
spur,  the  good  horse  made  three  easy  strides  in  ad- 
vance, cleared  the  bank  and  plashed  hedge,  as  if  it 
had  been  nothing,  and  landed  over  the  steep  drop  be- 
yond, as  steadily  as  a  troop-horse  performs  some  or- 
dinary evolution.  Jack  Stevens  and  the  other  whip 
followed,  and  with  now  and  then  a  wo)-d  of  encourage- 
meut,  and  now  and  then  a  gentle  rate,  that  proceeded 


92  A  COVERT  SIDE. 

to  draw  for  tlie  first  fox,  tlie  far-famed  gorse  of 
Ucklcby. 

Meanwhile,  the  bulk  of  the  field  had  moved  onward, 
taking  the  fence  to  the  south  of  the  gorse,  and  were 
riding  slowly  down  hill  along  its  western  border  ;  but  so 
soon  as  the  hounds  were  in  covert,  Fairfax  and  the  Rus- 
sian trotted  gently  forward,  and  soon  joined  the  group 
of  veterans,  who  waited  coolly  and  collectedly  at  the 
northern  corner,  above  the  fence  on  the  ridge,  assured 
by  the  sportsman's  instinct  that  if  the  gorse  held  a 
fox — and  when  did  Uckleby  not  hold  one — he  would 
go  away  somewhere  near  the  north-eastern  corner,  at 
which  stood  or  rather  sat,  one  of  the  whips,  still  as  a 
carved  statue  on  his  horse,  which  was  equally  motion- 
less, and  which  gave  no  token,  save  in  the  erected  ears 
and  the  occasional  quivering  of  the  whole  frame,  how 
deeply  it  felt  the  excitement. 

Before  them  stretched  away  a  long,  long  slope,  so 
gentle  that  it  seemed  almost  a  plain,  divided  by  huge 
bull-finches,  and  occasional  barriers  of  heavy  timber, 
into  pastures  of  fifty  and  sixty  acres  in  extent,  with- 
out an  acre  of  plough-land  or  fallow  in  sight,  till,  at 
about  five  miles  distance,  the  occasional  gleam  of  blue 
water,  and  the  long  line  of  pollard  willows  told  the 
presence  of  a  large  brook,  while  several  smaller  streams 
were  indicated  midway  by  fringes  of  alder,  and  an 
ozier  bed  or  two.  Beyond  the  brook  there  was  another 
long  gentle  acclivity,  headed  far,  far  away  to  the 
southward  by  the  majestic  woods  and  turreted  heights 
of  Belvoir ;  and  surging  up,  nearly  north-east  of  the 
point  at  which  they  stood,  into  a  gentle  knoll,  crested 
by  a  small  patch  of  high  wood-land  and  a  long  stunted 
covert,  apparently  distant  from  the  gorse  they  were 
drawing  by  some  nine  or  ten  miles, 

^'I  am  glad  you  have  come,"  said  Beaufort,  who 
had  joined  the  veterans.  "  This,  Colonel  Fairfax,  is 
the  finest  bit  of  country  in  all  Leicestershire — that  is 


A  COVERT  SIDE.  93 

the  "Wliissendlne  which  you  see  glittering  in  the  bot- 
tom, and  he  is  bank  full  after  these  rains ;  that 
covert  on  the  hill  is  Billesdon  Coplow,  and  if  we  have 
any  luck,  with  the  wind  as  it  is,  that  will  be  his  point 
to-day." 

"Hist!  Beaufort!" 

*'  A  challenge,  by  all  that's  holy  !" 

The  faint  whimper  of  a  hound  came  up  the  wind,  a 
sharp,  shrill,  treble  challenge,  and  then  Osbaldiston's 
scream — "  Have  at  him — Ha-ark  to  Charity  !  Have 
at  him  !" 

"  Charity,  hey  ?"  said  Magher.  "  All's  right,  then, 
for  a  thousand." 

An  instant  of  breathless  silence,  again  Charity's 
shrill  voice,  and  then  another,  and  another,  and  an- 
other— 

"  Ha-ark  !  Ha-ark — to  Vengeance !  Hark  to  Blue- 
bell!" 

Now,  now  it  is  one  crash  of  terrible,  discordant, 
furious  music — and  now  one  more  scream  of  the 
Squire,  "  Hark  together  !" 

"A  sure  find — and  they  are  coming  to  us,"  said 
Goodricke. 

Magher  gathered  up  his  reins,  and  moving  a  little 
to  the  left,  sat  ready  facing  the  fence.  Holyoke 
pulled  off  his  gloves,  and  Alvanley  pulled  up  his  boots. 

The  whipper-in  at  the  corner  below  them,  pulled  off 
his  cap,  and  lifted  it  high  in  air.  "  He  has  broke  by 
him  !"  cried  Dick  Musgrave.  "Not  a  word,  boys,  or 
we'll  have  him  back." 

"Tallyho!  whoop!  Tally  ho  !"  burst  from  the  lips 
of  the  whipper-in  ;  and  the  next  moment  pug  was  seen 
going  straight  away  across  the  grass-field  in  a  right 
line  for  the  Coplow,  having  broken  about  a  hundred 
yards  to  the  south  of  the  corner,  where  the  wliipper-in 
was  waiting,  and   perhaps   three   hundred   from  the 


94 


A  COVERT  SIDE. 


group,  who  were  watching  at  the  upper  angle,  in  a 
right  line  above  him. 

Osbahliston's  yell,  "  Gone-away  1  whoop — go-one- 
a-wa-ay  !"  might  have  been  heard  a  league,  three 
quick  toots  of  the  horn  followed,  and  the  gorse  was 
alive  with  the  rush  and  rivalry  of  the  fierce  ladypack, 
and  rang  merrily  but  wildly  to  their  furious  chiding. 

"Plenty  of  time,  gentlemen,"  said  the  whip,  raising 
his  hand  with  a  gentle  caution,  as  one  or  two  of  the 
youngsters  leaped  the  hedge  impetuous. 

"Hold  hard!  hold  hard!  for  Heaven's  sake!" 
shouted  Musgrave.  "  You  can't  catch  him  with  your 
mouths.     Hold  hard !" 

"Heaven  knows  there's  time  enough  for  all!"  cried 
Goodricke. 

"And  what's  more,  a  fair  field  and  no  favor,"  said 
Valentine  Magher,  as  cool  as  a  cucumber. 

As  they  stood  on  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  the  same 
fence  which  the  men  had  taken  as  they  threw  ofi",  lay 
before  them,  a  deep  ditch  of  perhaps  twelve  feet,  with 
high  bank  and  a  plashed  hedge  on  the  other  side,  and 
a  nasty  drop  over  it ;  then  came  a  narrow  strip  of  up- 
land pasture  with  a  second  hedge,  a  tremendous  ox- 
fence  of  old  thorn,  with  a  double  ditch  and  a  rail  on 
each  side  of  it;  being  a  continuation  of  the  lower 
boundary  of  the  gorse.  In  this,  however,  there  was  a 
gate  close  to  the  angle  of  the  gorse,  which  the  whip- 
per-in was  holding  open.  Above  the  upper  fence 
about  thirty  horsemen  were  collected,  Fairfax  being 
the  farthest  from  the  crest  on  the  extreme  right ; 
Cecil  Forrester  and  Aleck  McDonald  had  jumped  the 
first  fence,  but  ashamed  of  their  impetuosity,  stood 
rebuked  and  motionless. 

Another  crash,  nearer  and  now  close  at  hand,  of 
shrill  dog-music,  and  then  twelve  abreast,  the  leading 
hounds  topped  the  edge  of  the  gorse,  the  tail  hounda 


A  COVEKT  SIDE.  95 

came  tumljling  each  over  each,  across  it,  and  away,  on 
a  breast-high  scent,  over  the  open. 

"Now  go  it!"  shouted  Magher;  and  at  the  word, 
almost  in  a  line,  thirty  horses  shot  over  the  drop-leap. 
Fairfax  had  cleared  it  cleverly ;  a  score  at  least  of  the 
others  were  rushing  blindly  toward  the  gate ;  ten  or 
a  dozen  only  of  the  old  ones  had  taken  their  own  line ; 
Fairfax  remembered.  Holding  the  brave  horse  hard 
by  the  head,  and  gripping  him,  monkey-like,  from 
crotch  to  ankle-joint,  he  rushed  him  at  the  great  leap, 
giving  him  the  spur  sharply  as  he  rode  to  it. 

For  an  instant  the  sensation  was  that  of  being  en- 
throned on  the  back  of  a  soaring  bird,  so  easy  was  the 
long  swinging  stride  ;  then  came  the  crash  of  the  top- 
most branches  of  the  tall  bullfinch,  as  he  was  borne 
violently  through  them  ;  and  then,  firm  as  a  rock,  the 
good  steed  alighted  well  in  the  next  field,  with  an  un- 
shaken rider  on  his  back,  and  went  away  without  stop 
or  stagger  at  a  long  slashing  gallop. 

So  Percy  Fairfax  saw  the  finding  of  his  First  Fox 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  SHARP  BURST  AND  A  HARD   RUN. 

The  first  sound  tliat  met  Fairfax's  ear,  as  he  landed 
well  over  the  fence  into  the  second  field,  was  a  wild 
or  J,  half  curse  and  half  cheer  ;  and  a  loud  crash  in- 
stantly succeeded  it,  as  yet  another  rider  plunged 
through  the  abattis  of  branches  offered  by  the  bullfinch, 
and  spurring  up  savagely  alongside  half  checked  a  fine 
black  Smolensko  horse,  equal  to  double  his  weight,  a  few 
yards  ahead  of  ''  Moonbeam."  It  was  Lord  Jardinier, 
who,  by  aid  of  the  lift  he  got  in  his  friend's  phaeton, 
had  come  up  to  the  ground  just  in  time  to  hear  Osbal- 
diston's  scream,  as  "pug"  was  viewed  away,  had 
sprung  to  his  hunter's  back,  and  seeing  of  whom  the 
group  at  the  northern  end  of  the  gorse  covert  con- 
sisted, had  made  up  his  mind  on  the  instant  what  was 
the  thing  to  be  done,  and  by  dint  of  desperate  riding 
had  done  it,  so  as  just  to  make  up  for  lost  way  and 
no  more. 

The  hounds  were  going  heads  up  and  sterns  down, 
never  stooping  for  an  instant  to  the  tainted  grass,  but 
taking  the  scent  as  it  reeked  up  on  the  air  hot  from  the 
traces  of  the  recent  quarry,  racing  as  it  were  in  eager 
emulation  each  against  the  other,  and  running  all  so 
well  together,  with  twelve  or  fourteen  nearly  abreast 
in  the  front  rank,  that  it  seemed  as  if  a  well-spread 
table-cloth  might  easily  have  covered  them. 

The  Squire  and  Jack  Stevens,  who  had   come  full 

tilt  through  the  gorse  close  at  the  tail  of  the  leading 

hounds,  had  leaped  into  the  field  almost  abreast  of 

them,  and  were  now  bowling  away  a  few  yards  more  or 

(96\ 


A  SHARP  BURST  AND  A  HARD  RUN.       97 

less  to  the  left  of  tlie  pack,  which  were  bearing  slightly 
to  the  left,  while  Magher,  Beaufort,  Campbell,  Good- 
ricke,  Holjoke,  and  Alvanley,  lay  close  at  the  right 
hand  of  the  tail  hounds,  though  a  few  yards  astern  of 
them.  Matuschevitz  and  Fairfax  lay  yet  further  to 
the  right,  but  the  latter  was  almost  abreast  of  the 
leading  hounds,  having  kept  his  line  quite  straight, 
instead  of  bearing  to  the  southward,  by  which  he  had 
gained  something  in  headway,  though  he  had  increased 
nis  distance  from  the  pack.  At  this  moment  Jardi- 
nier  came  next  yet  farther  to  the  right,  standing  up 
in  his  stirrups,  and  pointing  forward  with  his  hunting- 
whip  toward  the  next  fence,  as  if  to  challenge  Fairfax, 
to  whom,  either  from  jealousy  or  the  mere  natural 
perversity  of  his  temper,  he  seemed  to  have  taken  an 
instinctive  dislike. 

Some  fifty  or  sixty  yards  to  the  rear  of  this  the 
first  flight,  came  fifteen  or  twenty  others,  who,  though 
many  of  them  capital  horsemen  and  bold  riders,  had 
lost  time  and  way  through  indecision,  by  riding  for 
the  gateway  instead  of  breasting  the  ox-fence,  and  it 
was  clear  enough  that  if  the  scent  held  and  the  present 
pace  were  to  be  kept  up  they  would  have  all  they 
could  do  to  maintain  their  present  ground,  without 
gaining  on  their  leaders. 

Half  a  mile  to  the  left,  or  the  southward,  the  bulk 
of  the  field,  who  had  chosen  the  western  edge  of  the 
gorse  at  the  throw  ofi",  might  be  seen  to  the  number 
of  two  hundred  scarlet  jackets,  with  a  sprinkling  of 
green,  indicative  of  Ned  Christian  and  his  burly  bro- 
ther yeomen,  and  a  few  neat  black  cut-a-ways,  well  to 
the  front  of  these  latter — for  who  ever  saw  a  fox-hunt- 
ing parson  who  did  not  fly  the  first  soar — were  seen 
streaming  straight  away  in  a  line  nearly  parallel  to 
the  course  taken  by  the  fox,  though  somewhat  favored 
by  the  southwardly  inclination  of  his  line,  and  hoping 
175 


98       A  SHARP  BURST  AND  A  HARD  RUN. 

therefore  with  good  show  of  reason  to  nick  in  cleverly 
at  the  end  of  a  mile  or  two. 

In  spite  of  Jardinier's  half  insulting  manner  and 
expression,  the  Virginian  was  neither  himself  hurried, 
nor  hurried  his  good  horse,  but  keeping  a  steady  hand 
on  his  snaffle  sat  firm  and  galloped,  not  like  a  provin- 
cial, but  like  one  who  knew  Melton.  The  field  acrosrs 
w^hich  they  were  going  was  rather  wet,  without  being 
very  deep  or  heavy,  and  became  more  splashy,  with  a 
few  tufts  of  rushes  interspersed  as  it  neared  the  head- 
land, where  it  would  seem  there  was  a  drain  on  tliia 
side  the  fence,  which  was  a  tall,  newly  plashed,  stake 
and  bound  rasper,  full  four  feet  in  height  at  top  of  a 
moderate  bank,  the  whole  coupled  by  a  recent  binding, 
that  no  horse  which  touched  it  could  hope  to  break 
and  so  escape  a  fall. 

All  this  Fairfax  twigged  with  half  an  eye,  and  ap- 
prehending that  it  might  be  boggy,  drew  a  little  fur- 
ther to  the  left,  where  a  sound,  recently  mended  cart- 
track,  led  direct  to  a  stout  gate,  a  few  inches  lower 
than  the  fence,  doing  the  whole  so  gradually  and  so 
quietly  that  his  horse  never  lost  his  stride,  nor  fell  at 
all  to  the  rear. 

"Aha!"  said  Dick  Musgrave,  who  rode  close  behind 
him,  as  he  saw  the  manoeuvre,  "Yankee  or  no  Yan- 
kee, that  chap  knows  what  he  is  about." 

The  next  moment  they  were  at  the  fence,  with  his 
hands  down,  his  heels  dropped,  no  touch  of  the  spur  or 
flourish  of  the  whip,  the  Virginian  popped  his  horse 
over  the  difficult  gate,  as  if  he  had  been  doing  it  all 
his  life,  neither  slackening  his  pace  nor  increasing  it 
the  least.  Jardinier,  who  had  gone  a  little  too  fast  at 
the  plashed  hedge,  felt  the  ground  shiver  under  him, 
when  he  was  within  three  strides  of  taking  off — a  less 
daring  and  sagacious  rider  would  have  tried  to  get 
him  in  hand  too  late,  checked  his  horse,  made  him 
flounder,  and  as  likely  as  not  brought  him,  chest  on, 


A  SHARP  BURST  AND  A  HARD  RUN.       99 

upon  the  binding.  But  the  viscount  was  too  knowing ; 
and  probably  his  impetuous  and  obstinate  mood  would 
not  have  suffered  him  in  any  event  to  pull  up.  As  it 
was,  he  did  what  was  unquestionably  for  the  best, 
kept  him  held  hard  but  spurred  him  right  onward 
through  the  deep,  and  by  a  vigorous  and  well-timed 
lift  carried  the  Smolensko  clear  over  the  hedge,  though 
his  heels  tipped  it,  as  he  landed  safely. 

Still  he  had  taken  something,  if  it  were  but  a  little, 
out  of  his  horse,  and  as  much  Fairfax  had  saved,  and 
two  or  three  of  the  old  hands  nodded  their  approba- 
tion. 

The  whole  of  the  first  flight  got  over  safely,  but  two 
or  three  crashes  in  the  rear,  and  a  stray  horse  or  two 
coming  up  riderless,  with  flowing  reins  and  flying 
stirrups,  showed  that  the  field  was  already  thinning 
rapidly.  The  next  field  was  one  of  the  worst  in 
Leicestershire  to  gallop  over  cleverly — an  old  piece  of 
grass,  which  would  have  been  wet  had  it  not  been 
laid  down  in  very  deep  furrows,  almost  as  deep  as 
grips,  and  steep,  high-backed  ridges,  dotted  and  broken 
up  by  mole-hills.  Instinct  led  Fairfax,  for  certainly 
he  had  never  seen,  much  less  ridden  across  a  field  in 
the  least  degree  like  that  before,  to  lay  his  horse  a 
little  diagonally  across  the  furrows,  and  he  of  course 
did  so  to  the  left,  bringing  him  still  closer  to  the  line 
of  the  leading  hound,  and  as  he  raised  his  eyes  he  ob- 
served that  the  others  had  done  the  like,  and  so  felt 
that  he  had  done  well.  His  horse,  too,  a  great  advan- 
tage, evidently  was  a  made  hunter,  and  knew  tho- 
roughly what  he  was  about,  being  previously  accus- 
tomed to  such  ground,  so  that  he  got  along  very  well, 
skimming  over  the  furrows  in  his  stride,  and  alighting 
stout  and  steady  on  the  crown  of  every  ridge.  His 
good  fortune,  of  which  in  this  instance  he  was  not  un- 
aware, for  he  perceived  himself  deficient  in  the  pecu- 
liar qualities  of  hand  and  horsemanship  which  would 


100      A  SHARP  BURST  AND  A  HARD  RUN. 

have  enabled  him,  as  he  saw  at  once  it  would  Magher, 
Goodricke,  and  Saddell,  and  even  Jardinier,  to  com- 
pel a  raw  horse  so  to  measure  his  stroke,  lent  him 
courage  and  confidence ;  and,  finding  how  strongly 
and  solidly  his  horse  strode  under  him,  when  not  one 
or  two,  but  many,  of  the  others  were  laboring  heavily, 
he  ventured  to  make  play  a  little,  and  without  putting 
him  to  his  full  speed,  shook  him  a  length  or  two 
ahead,  and  took  the  next  fence  foremost  of  the  field 
at  a  fly.  It  was  a  very  nasty  one,  a  tall,  ragged  oak 
paling,  leaning  toward  him  from  the  top  of  a  bank  two 
or  three  feet  high,  with  a  broad  drain  on  the  hither 
side,  and  what  he  neither  saw  nor  suspected,  a  little 
ditch  or  grip  about  two  feet  wide  and  a  foot  deep,  at 
some  yards  distant  from  the  paling  on  the  other  side. 
This  sort  of  arrangement,  seeming,  as  it  does,  to  be 
intended  precisely  for  the  purpose  of  catching  the  fore- 
feet of  any  horse  leaping  the  fence  in  that  direction 
at  full  swing,  is  termed  a  squire-trap,  and  is  perhaps 
more  dreaded  by  the  fox-hunter  than  any  other  modi- 
fication of  ditch,  rail,  and  bank,  that  he  is  in  the  habit 
of  encountering.  This  place,  lying  in  so  famous  a  piece 
of  country  as  it  did,  between  the  two  most  crack  co- 
verts in  the  hunt,  was  of  course  well  known  to  every 
one  who  had  hunted  Leicestershire  even  a  single  sea- 
son, and  it  was  always  taken  warily  and  with  the  ut- 
most exercise  both  of  hand  and  judgment,  so  that  in  the 
very  point  of  time  when  Fairfax  charged  it,  quite  too 
quickly  for  that  style  of  leap,  the  oldsters  were  screw- 
ing themselves  well  down  into  their  pigskins,  and  the 
youngsters  were,  to  say  the  truth,  some  of  them  shaking 
in  their  stirrups.  All  presaged,  as  they  saw  him  shoot 
ahead,  a  certain  fall  to  the  bold  stranger ;  Jardinier 
grinned  a  malicious  smile  of  triumph,  and  Matusche- 
vitz,  who  was  almost  as  anxious  for  his  protege's  suc- 
cess as  for  hi^  own  place  in  the  run,  would  have  shouted 


A  SHARP  BURST  AND  A  HARD  RUN.      101 

a  warning,  but  that  lie  feared  to  disturb  him  rather 
than  put  him  on  his  guard. 

But  friend  and  foe  were  both  destined  to  be  disap- 
pointed, for  the  brave  horse  "Moonbeam,"  whether 
it  was  that  he  knew  what  was  to  be  done  better  than 
his  rider,  or  what  is  more  probable,  that  he  baulked 
for  the  tenth  part  of  a  second  at  the  unexpected  sight 
of  bright  water,  checked  himself  instinctively  at  the 
drain's  brink,  and  took  the  upstanding  pales  by  what 
is  called  a  buck  leap,  barely  clearing  them,  and  doing 
so  only  by  bringing  his  hind  legs  quite  close  under 
him  up  almost  to  his  belly,  and  then  by  a  sudden  twist 
alighting  on  them.  That  is  a  very  common  trick  of 
leaping  with  Irish  hunters  accustomed  to  perpendicular 
stone  walls  with  no  ditches,  but  is  unusual  with  En- 
glish horses,  and  not  in  them  considered  an  advan- 
tage, since  in  most  of  the  midland  and  many  of  the 
northern  counties  the  hedges  are  backed  by  broad 
drains  or  brooks,  into  which  a  buck  leap  is  sure  to 
precipitate  both  horse  and  rider,  neck  and  crop.  It  is, 
moreover,  a  very  hard  leap  to  sit,  and  shakes  an  un- 
practised rider  more  than  any  other.  At  this  crisis, 
however,  it  stood  our  friend  in  good  stead,  for  used  to 
timber  jumping,  most  of  any,  he  sat  it  firmly,  and  the 
good  horse  seeing  the  trap  at  a  glance,  barely  tipped 
the  bank  with  his  heels,  stretched  over  the  second  grip 
without  an  effort,  and  was  galloping,  the  next  instant, 
at  his  ease  across  the  best  and  soundest  piece  of  green 
sward  they  had  yet  traversed. 

Meanwhile  the  man-trap  had  done  its  work  as  usual, 
for  no  precautions  of  management  or  lifting  can  be 
certain  to  avail  even  with  the  best  riders,  especially 
where,  as  in  this  instance,  the  first  leap  is  of  great 
magnitude.  Fairfax  would  have  given  much  to  look 
round  and  see  how  his  followers  fared,  for  he  was  now 
well  nigh  three  lengths  ahead,  but  he  knew  it  would 
not  be  courteous,  so  he  galloped  right  forward,  if  any 


102  A  SHARP  BURST  AND  A  HARD  RUN, 

ihmcr  pulling  upon  his  horse  a  little,  on  the  sound  land, 
with  his  eye  riveted  on  Charity,  the  leading  hound  of 
the  pack  up  to  this  moment. 

Osbaldiston  on  the  unrivaled  Clasher,  whom  he 
swung  at  it  hard  held,  with  a  dig  of  the  persuaders,  a 
cut  of  his  whip  across  the  haunches  and  a  scream, 
cleared  the  whole  at  a  stride,  drain,  palings,  bank  and 
man-trap,  covering  nine-and-twenty  feet  in  length  from 
toe  to  heel  prints.  Magher  purposely  achieved  what 
Fairfax  had  by  luck  accomplished.  Jack  Stevens  fol- 
lowed suit,  so  Holyoke  and  Matuschevitz,  but  Good- 
ricke,  whose  weight  had  told  severely  on  his  horse  in 
the  bad  ground,  and  Jardinier,  who  was  watching  the 
Virginian  instead  of  minding  his  own  business,  liter- 
ally put  their  feet  into  it — in  the  ditch  of  course,  and 
rolled  over  and  over  it.  The  former  with  his  welter 
weight  getting  such  a  squelch  as  stunned  both  his 
horse  and  himself  for  a  moment  or  two,  the  latter  with 
genuine  and  characteristic  pluck  holding  on  to  his 
reins  like  grim  death,  and  being  again  in  his  saddle 
and  under  way  within  a  minute  after  his  downfall. 
The  others  fared  as  they  might,  some  baulked  it  alto- 
gether, some  got  over  safely,  some  were  nabbed  in  the 
squire  trap,  one  unfortunate  chested  the  palings  with 
a  blown  horse,  and  went  backward  into  the  train,  and 
thence  home,  with  a  lamed  horse,  a  wet  jacket,  and  a 
sprained  ankle  ;  but,  save  with  the  first  flight,  we  have 
nothing  to  say. 

Up  to  this  moment  the  line  of  the  run  had  lain  con- 
siderably to  the  left,  or  south-westward,  of  the  point 
whence  the  fox  had  broken,  and  the  leading  hounds 
were  looking  up  a  full  mile  to  the  south-west  of  Billes- 
don  Coplow,  the  point  for  which  every  one  had  sup- 
posed he  must  be  making,  so  that  every  thing  up  to 
this  time  had  favored  the  party  who,  taking  the  west- 
ern instead  of  the  eastern  end  of  Uckleby  Gorse, 
would  so  have  been  to  a  certainty  thrown  out  had  the 


A  SHARP  BURST  AND  A  HARD  RUN.      103 

hounds  gone  stralglit  away  due  soutli  from  the  gorse. 
Had  they  kept  on  six  fiekls  farther  as  they  were  going 
they  wouki  have  crossed  the  line  of  these  skirters,  and 
so  placed  them  on  an  equality  with  the  eight  or  ten 
men  who  had  ridden  from  the  beginning  side  by  side 
with  the  pack.  They  had  not,  however,  gone  above 
half  way  across  the  good  sound  pasture-field,  in  which 
they  were  now  running,  before  the  leading  bitch  threw 
up  her  head  for  a  second,  cast  herself  beautifully  to 
the  right,  and  without  checking  carried  the  scent  right 
off  on  an  opposite  tangent  to  the  eastward,  right  across 
the  head  of  the  Virginian's  horse.  He  pulled  up  on 
the  instant,  and  though  it  was  but  for  half  a  minute, 
no  one  but  he  who  has  ridden  long  to  fox-hounds 
knows  how  vast  is  the  relief  given  to  a  horse,  which 
has  been  going  twenty  minutes  at  three-quarters  speed, 
by  a  dead  stop  even  for  ten  seconds. 

Away  they  went,  as  hard  as  they  could  lay  legs  to 
the  ground,  now  in  a  direct  line  for  the  Coplow,  run- 
ning so  fast  that  they  literally  were  unable  to  give 
tongue,  and  that  only  a  solitary  yelp  or  whimper  from 
time  to  time  showed  that  they  would  have  spoken  to 
the  trail  if  they  had  had  the  breath  to  do  so. 

This  turn,  of  course,  favored  Fairfax,  who  had  been 
riding  from  the  start  to  the  right  of  the  pack,  and  who 
was  now,  of  course,  riding  the  inner  circle,  while  all 
the  old  Meltonians,  who  had  been  previously  a  horse's 
length  or  two  behind  him,  were  now  thrown  a  length 
or  two  farther  behind,  and  left  with  the  option  of  rid- 
ing the  outer  circumference,  or  checking  their  horse's 
stride  and  crossing  behind  the  Virginian,  so  as  to  get 
the  inside  of  him.  This  was  a  point  of  judgment, 
and  one  did  one  thing,  one  another ;  but  there  was  one 
person  to  whom  that  sudden  turn  was  victory,  or 
the  chance  of  it — that  person  was  Jardinier,  the 
last  of  the  whole  squad  since  his  fall,  and  far  the 
outermost  to  the  right,  now  made  the  innermost,  and 


104      A  SnAEP  LURST  AND  A  HARD  RUN. 

enabled,  by  laying  up  direct  for  the  leading  honnd,  to 
ride  the  chord  of  an  arc,  and  to  bring  himself  once 
more  fairly  abreast  of  our  hero.  He  had  still,  how- 
ever, this  disadvantage,  that  whereas  his  rival,  having 
been  from  the  first  well  up  to  the  hounds,  had  been 
able  to  take  the  profit  of  every  variation  of  pace — for 
it  must  not  be  supposed  that  hounds,  even  when  run- 
ning at  their  best  speed  across  a  country,  always  go 
at  their  very  fastest,  for  scent  will  differ  "vn  ith  soils,  and 
so  pace  likewise — he  had  been  able  to  pull  up  his 
horse  once  or  twice,  and  once  to  give  him  a  fair  stand- 
still with  his  nose  to  the  wind  for  a  few  seconds, 
while  Jardinier  being  all  the  time  a  little,  though  but 
a  very  little,  way  behind,  and  striving  to  make  up  lee- 
way, had  never  an  opportunity  of  easing  or  sparing 
his  fine  black  hunter  for  a  single  yard.  On  the  other 
hand  he  had  the  advantage  in  weight  considerably,  in 
perfect  knowledge  of  the  ground,  and  in  being  a  thor- 
ough practised  and  old  fox-hunter,  though  but  a  young 
man,  against  a  comparative  tyro.  Away  !  away  went 
the  lady  pack,  as  if  they  had  been  winged ;  wo  to  the 
fox  whose  ill  fate  had  set  him  before  them  on  that 
sporting  morning.  Of  all  the  skirting  squad,  late  so 
hopeful  of  nicking  in,  their  fate  was  sealed  forever, 
should  the  fox  hold  to  his  point  for  the  Coplow. 

There  were  but  a  handful  now  of  the  whole  field, 
which  must  at  the  break  have  numbered  full  three 
hundred  scarlet  jackets,  within  two  fences  of  the 
hounds.     All  the  rest  had  come  to  grief. 

First  rode,  abreast,  on  parallel  lines,  literally  neck 
and  neck,  taking  every  fence  as  they  found  it  in  their 
stroke,  Jardinier,  the  crack  young  one  of  the  country, 
and  Fairfax,  already  mentally  admitted  by  good 
judges  to  be  a  good  one.  Close  behind  these,  and  all 
nearly  abreast,  not  following  their  leaders,  but  each 
resolutely  riding  his  own  line,  came  Osbaldiston,  Al- 
vanley^  Musgrave,  the  Duke  of  Beaufort,  Holyoke, 


A  SHARP  BUKST  AND  A  HARD  RUN.      105 

and  Campbell  of  Sacldell.  The  weight  of  Val.  Magher, 
and  his  hard  pounding  had  told  the  tale  and  he  was 
tailing.  Goodricke,  though  riding  game,  had  not  yet 
made  his  loss  good,  though  he  was  up  with  the  McDo- 
nalds, the  Gascoignes,  Oliver,  Ciss  Forrester,  and 
Henry  Peyton,  who  were  doing  all  that  could  be  done 
to  retrieve  the  time  lost  at  the  first  gate,  and  who, 
though  far  behind,  were  still  in  the  same  field  with  the 
hounds. 

On  they  went,  faster,  and  yet  faster — or  it  seemed 
that  they  went  faster  as  the  stride  of  the  good  horses 
gradually  shortened.  Fields  flitted  by  unseen,  fences ' 
were  topped  unnoticed,  and  by  this  time  the  Virginian 
blood  of  Fairfax,  never  the  coldest  in  the  world,  was 
getting  up  ;  and  as  he  saw  that  the  viscount  was  mak- 
ing a  dead  set  at  him,  like  a  true  Virginian,  he  met 
him  half  way — and  so  by  this  time  they  had  admitted 
to  themselves,  what  all  the  field  who  were  within  eye- 
shot had  seen  the  last  half  hour,  that  they  were  riding 
no  less  at  one  another  than  to  the  hounds. 

Together  they  plunged  through  a  crashing  bull- 
finch, so  stout,  that  had  they  been  going  one  iota 
slower,  it  would  have  hurled  them  backward,  into  a 
good  grass-field  of  about  twenty  acres,  falling  away 
from  them  a  little,  and  bounded  on  the  farther  side, 
by  the  brimming  bankfuU  Whissendine,  the  broadest 
jumpahle  brook  in  England,  now  slightly  overflowed, 
and  running  with  a  furious  current. 

"  Have  at  you  now,"  cried  Jardinier,  forgetful  in 
his  impetuosity  of  the  laws  of  conventional  courtesy, 
and  he  pointed  with  his  whip  ahead,  then  rushed  the 
Smolensko  at  it.  At  that  very  moment  Fairfax  took 
a  pull  on  Moonbeam,  and  dropped  two  horse's  lengths 
at  least  astern  of  Jardinier.  The  viscount  thought  his 
heart  had  failed  him,  and  that  he  would  blink  his  pace, 
and  rode  yet  more  fiercely  forward.  It  was  his  tem- 
per not  his  judgment,  that  so  swayed  him;  for  no  man 


106      A  SHARP  BURST  AXD  A  HARD  RUN. 

of  all  tlie  field  knew  better  tliat  no  horse  can  sweep 
the  Whissendine  unless  he  has  the  puff  well  in  him. 

Till  within  some  ten  strides  of  the  red  surging  river, 
Fairfax  held  hard,  then  set  him  at  it  straight,  that  he 
could  neither  stop  nor  swerve,  and  in  w^ent  the  per- 
suaders twice  ;  but  he  knew  too  well  to  raise  his  whip, 
and  with  both  hands  well  down,  he  charged  it  as  if 
his  name  had  been  *'  Thunderbolt." 

The  black  Smolensko,  although  half  blown,  cleared 
it  nobly,  but  scarce  far  enough,  for  the  treacherous 
verge  gave  way  under  his  hind  feet,  and  he  went  down, 
though  finding  foot-hold  in  the  bank,  he  recovered, 
after  a  heavy  lurch,  and  brought  his  rider  up,  cling- 
ing to  him  like  a  bull-dog,  though  clean  out  of  the  sad- 
dle, and  upon  his  withers.  "  Moonbeam"  had  not 
only  cleared  it  as  though  it  had  held  no  water,  but 
landed  high  and  dry  with  good  four  feet  to  spare,  and 
went  on  steadily  without  stint  or  stumble.  All  the 
next  flight  cleared  it  cleverly ;  but  when  the  loiterers 
came  up^  two  or  three  heavy  splashes  gave  note  of  wet 
jackets  ;  and  the  leaders  learned  afterward  that  it  was 
not  wholly  without  risk  and  difficulty  that  three  or 
four  horses  were  got  out  of  their  cold  bath. 

On  the  bank  several  second  horses  were  waiting  for 
their  masters ;  and  to  these  all  eyes  were  turned  wist- 
fully, for  the  pace  had  told  more  or  less  on  all,  and  at 
the  pace  they  were  going,  it  was  certain  that  no 
horse  could  stand  it  many  minutes  longer.  But  it  so 
chanced  that  not  one  of  the  party  in  advance  had  a 
horse  there,  not  even  Jardinier,  who  wanted  his  the 
most.  Goodricke's  was  there,  and  Magher's,  and 
those  of  one  or  two  gallants  who  were  nowhere.  But 
of  all  the  first  flight,  the  boys  with  the  second 
horses  had  taken  the  west  end  of  the  gorse,  where 
they  found,  and  were  now  a  mile  to  windward,  and  no 
hope  of  coming  up  at  all. 

About  fifty  yards  below  the  spot  where  they  leaped 


A  SHARP  BURST  AND  A  HARD  RUN.      107 

tlie  rivulet,  a  muddy  drain  falls  into  it,  with  an  osier 
patch  of  about  two  acres  in  the  angle  between  the  two  ; 
this  the  pack  had  already  passed,  when  on  a  sudden 
they  threw  up  tlieir  heads,  and  were  at  fault  badly. 
On  the  instant  Fairfax  was  out  of  his  saddle,  in  an- 
other Moonbeam's  nose  was  well  to  windward,  and 
half  a  pint  of  sherry  from  his  master's  flask  was  down 
his  gullet,  and  his  nostrils  sponged  out,  for  the  first 
time,  probably,  in  his  life  with  a  cambric  handkerchief, 
redolent  of  extrait  de  jockey-club. 

"  The  best  thing  of  the  season  by  all  odds,"  said  Sir 
Richard  Musgrave,  looking  at  his  watch;  "  five  miles 
and  a  half  as  the  crow  flies  in  twenty-three  minutes  !" 

''  I  wish  you  joy,  Fairfax,"  cried  Beaufort,  good- 
naturedly.  "If  this  is  really  your  first  day  with 
fox-hounds,  though  I  can  scarce  believe  it." 

"His  first  day!"  said  Musgrave,  laughing.  "He 
has  been  at  it  all  my  life." 

"No  he  only  takes  to  it  very  kindly;"  said  Matus- 
chevitz,  laughing  ;  "as  I  was  sure  he  would  to  any 
thing,  when  I  saw  him  stick  a  pig  that  every  body 
else  was  afraid  of,  in  a  chasse  aux  sangliers  near 
Kennes." 

"  No,  but  you  don't  mean  that  it  is  really  your  first 
day,  Colonel  Fairfax;"  said  Dick  Musgrave;  "for  if 
you  do,  this  is  a — a — I  don't  know  what." 

"A  d — d  thing,''  said  Jardinier,  who  had  just  come 
up  with  his  horse  limping,  and  himself  dripping ;  "  a 
d — d  thing,  ain't  it,  to  be  done  this  way?" 

"It  is  really  my  first  day  in  England,"  said  Fair- 
fax, quietly. 

"  In  England  ! — why  where  do  they  hunt  foxes 
else?  In  England,  quoth'a!"  said  Holyoke,  laughing. 

"  In  Virginia,  a  little ;  though  not  in  such  style, 
certainly,  nor  across  such  a  country,"  he  replied. 

"  Virginia  !     Where  the  deuce  is  that  ?"  asked  Jar- 


108      A  SHARP  BURST  AND  A  HARD  RUN. 

(llnier,  half  recurring  to  his  first  idea  that  he  had  been 
riding  against  a  Hottentot. 

"  Somewhere  in  Southern  Africa,  I  believe,  near 
the  Cape,"  answered  Beaufort,  gravely.  ^'But  what 
the  deuce  are  the  hounds  about.  It  is  a  curious  at- 
fault  this." 

Osbaldiston  had  made  by  this  time  a  short  cast  for- 
vrard  in  the  line  of  the  Coplow,  but  not  hitting  it  off, 
was  coming  back  at  full  trot,  with  the  ladies  at  his 
heels. 

"  Overrun  it,  I  fancy,"  he  squealed,  as  he  passed 
them,  "  and  laid  up  in  the  osier  holt.  Eleu-in  !  Eleu- 
in  there,  good  lasses !" 

And  in  an  instant  the  osier  holt  was  crashing  as  the 
high-strung  pack  dashed  into  it,  and  the  next  moment 
made  ring  with  a  full-mouthed  chorus. 

"  Have  at  him  there !  Hark  a-wa-ay !"  and  a 
"  whoop"  of  a  countryman  at  the  other  end  followed, 
and  all  who  had  dismounted  sprang  back  into  their 
saddles. 

"  Exactly  three  minutes  to  a  second,"  said  Mus- 
grave,  as  he  put  up  his  watch ;  "  but  it's  a  cursed  bore 
his  running  back  to  those  out-siders." 

But  even  as  he  spoke.  Jack  Stevens'  rate  was  heard 
from  the  other  end,  "  Hark  back !  Hark  back,  I  tell 
you  Charity  !  Get  away.  Bedlam  Bess  !  Ha-rk  back!" 
followed  by  the  sharp  reports  of  his  heavy  whip  ;  and 
at  the  next  instant,  black  with  sweat,  tongue  out,  and 
brush  down,  the  hunted  fox  dodged  out  under  their 
very  horses'  feet,  and  skurrying  through  them  unhurt, 
went  away  on  his  old  line  as  good  as  new. 

"  Whoop  !  gone-away,  whoop  !"  shrieked  the  Squire; 
and  at  that  well  known  yell,  "  the  ladies"  came 
streaming  up  and  away  again,  breast-high  for  the 
Coplow. 

"A  fresh  fox  went  away  back,  sir,"  said  Jack  Ste- 
vens, "  and  the  place  was  so  foiled  with  the  ould  devil, 


A  SHARP  BURST  AND  A  HARD  RUN.      109 

I  don't  wonder,  if  Cliaritj  did  take  it.  They  're  set- 
tling on  him  now,  sir  ;"  and  he  touched  his  cap. 

"  Now  for  his  brush,"  squealed  the  Squire  ;  "  he'll 
scarce  reach  the  Coplow." 

And  away  they  went  for  four  miles  farther ;  and 
now  up  hill,  all  with  a  fair  start ;  all  with  horses  that 
had  been  well  tried,  wind  and  limb,  that  morning,  all 
emulous  and  abreast. 

It  boots  not  to  dwell  on  fences ;  for,  after  all,  ex- 
cept as  you  ride  at  them,  they  are  all  pretty  much 
alike.  There  were  no  checks  any  more,  nor  falls,  until 
at  the  very  last  fence,  when  "  Sloonbeam"  chested  a 
high  stake  and  bound-fence,  and  came  on  his  knees 
and  nose,  to  be  cleverly  recovered  by  his  rider,  just  as 
the  Squire's  incomparable  and  indescribable  scream, 
"  Who-whoop  !  who-whoop  !  who-whoop  !  was  heard 
from  Billesdon  Coplow  on  the  hill — within  three 
fields  of  which  they  killed  him,  fairly  run  into  in  the 
open — all  the  way  back  down  wind  to  the  Whissen- 
dine,  where  it  met  the  ears  of  the  stragglers,  and  told 
them  that  the  best  fox  was  dead  who  had  run  that 
year  before  the  ladies. 

Point  to  point,  from  the  find  to  the  kill,  it  was  nine 
miles  and  a  quarter  as  the  crow  flies  ;  and  there  was 
about  half  a  mile  to  add — so  nearly  straight  was  the 
gallant  fox's  line — for  the  one  deviation  he  had  made 
in  the  true  course. 

In  forty-four  minutes  it  was  done,  the  check  in- 
cluded, over  difficult  ground,  and  some  of  the  hardest 
fencing  in  England.  The  greatest  speed  ever  held  for 
an  hour,  is  twelve  miles,  and  that  across  common  land 
without  fences ;  so  that  it  is  no  wonder  if  that  burst 
be  remembered  and  quoted  as  one  of  the  best  and 
hardest  ever  known  ;  and  if  that  fox's  scalp  be  visible 
to  this  day,  as  it  is,  marked  with  three  crosses  as 
super-excellent,  on  the  doors  of  the  Quorndon  kennels. 

From  that  day  forth  Percy  Fairfax  was  free  of  Mel- 


110      A  SHAKP  BURST  AND  A  HARD  RUN. 

ton  Mowbray ;  and  it  was  quite  useless  that  lie  af- 
firmed and  asseverated  that  it  was  his  first  day  with 
the  hounds  in  England.     So  he  gave  up  saying  so. 

And  Jardinier  swears  to  this  day  that  it  is  all  non- 
sense about  Fairfax  being  a  Virginian,  because  every 
one  knows  the  Fairfaxes  are  a  Yorkshire  family ;  be- 
sides, he  knows  that  the  people  are  all  black  in  that 
country ;  and  as  to  their  fox-hunting  at  the  Cape,  or 
in  South  Africa,  he  is  not  quite  such  a  fool  as  not  to 
know  that  it's  too  hot  to  hunt  there ;  and  besides, 
there  are  no  foxes  there,  only  jackals  ;  for  didn't  poor 
Power  tell  him  so ;  and  hadn't  he  been  there  himself 
— Power,  not  Jardinier — and  so  mustn't  he  know. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AND  A  BELLE. 

The  fox  was  hardly  pulled  to  pieces,  before  up  came, 
in  a  long  weary  string,  the  boys  on  the  second  horses ; 
but,  instead  of  having  ridden,  as  they  ought  to  have 
done  if  skilful  and  fortune-favored,  the  chord  of  an 
arc  or  the  hypothenuse  of  a  triangle,  they  had  unfor- 
tunately on  that  day  been  thrown,  by  the  singular 
straightness  of  the  fox's  line,  and  the  more  remarka- 
ble singularity  of  his  one  short  angle,  entirely  on  the 
outside  of  the  circle,  and  being  thus  forced  to  make  up 
leeway,  instead  of  nicking  in,  and  taking  it  easy,  they 
proved  the  truth  of  Matuschevitz's  remark,  about  the 
small  advantage,  if  not  disadvantage,  possessed  by 
light  weights  over  welter  weights  in  a  sharp  burst. 
For  as  they  came  streaming  in  over  the  upland,  a  long 
straggling,  panting  line,  it  quickly  became  evident  to 
the  chiefs  of  the  hunt  that  the  feather-weight  young- 
sters had  taken  more  out  of  the  second  horses,  than 
had  the  welters  out  of  the  first,  which  had  borne  all  the 
brunt  and  burthen  of  the  day.  Osbaldiston  gave  a 
low  whistle,  as  a  grand  black  horse  by  Jerry,  came  up 
white  with  foam,  and  showing  red  clay  marks  of  a 
heavy  fall — Jardinier  swore  hideously  as  bruising 
Jem,  his  pet  tiger,  brought  in  a  bright  chesnut  Comus 
colt,  staggering  and  dead-blown — Fairfax,  also,  saw 
Thunderbolt,  half-brother  to  Slasher,  kicked  up  the 
upland,  with  bellows  to  mend  plainly  written  in  his 
distended  nostrils,  heaving  flanks,  and  blood-shot  eyes, 
and  evidently  more  distressed  than  either  his  half- 
brother,  Slasher,  who  had  done  miracles  under  the 

(111) 


112        A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE. 

bruising  pluck  of  Maglicr,  or  Clasher,  who  from  first 
to  last  had  flown  in  the  first  flight  under  the  dauntless 
daring  and  grand  piloting  of  the  Squire.  In  a  word, 
Alvanley,  Goodricke,  Holyoke,  Sir  Richard  Musgrave, 
all  the  cracks,  were  nonplussed ;  and  what  was  worse,  the 
second  horses  of  the  men  were  worse  beat,  if  possible, 
than  those  of  their  masters  ;  and  it  was  clear  to  be 
seen  that  the  death  of  that  rattling  fox  was  the  end 
of  the  day's  sport,  although  the  sun  had  not  yet  seen 
his  meridian. 

The  run  had  been  so  brilliant,  however,  that  all  who 
had  gone  well  were  well  contented :  and  it  was  only 
Jardinier,  ever  malcontent,  and  a  few  others  of  the 
illustrious  thrown  out,  who  were  disposed  to  cavil  at 
the  dispositions  of  the  Squire. 

"  I  can't  say,  Fairfax,  that  I'm  sorry  it's  all  over 
for  the  day,"  said  Matuschevitz,  ''and  you  for  reasons 
of  your  own  ought  to  be  glad,  if  you  are  prudent,  I 
mean,  more  than  ambitious — v/hich  by  the  way  I  don't 
believe  you  are." 

"  I'm  sure,  at  least,  I  never  said  I  was,  mon  clier,''  re- 
joined the  other,  laughing,  "  but  why  ?  why  oiigltt  I 
to  be  glad?" 

"  Is  that  ignorance  or  afi'ectation,  Fairfax  ?  stupid- 
ity or  vanity  ? — of  the  two  whether  ?" 

"Vanity  and  affectation,  I  trust.  But,  again,  I 
repeat  why  ?" 

"You  have  gone  so  devilish  well  to-day,  and  made 
so  favorable  an  impression  that  you  would  do  w^ell  to 
repose  on  your  laurels,  'till  with  renewed  morning 
come  reinvigorated  sinews." 

"  Oh  !  is  that  all  ? — but  you  forget,  Matuschevitz, 
that  I  ride  for  excitement  and  to  amuse  myself,  not  to 
be  admired  or  made  a  ten-days  wonder." 

"  Oh,  aye  !  the  nil  admirari,  I  had  forgotten  that 
was  your  hobby ;  but  I  think  you  misconstrue  your 
Latin  admirari ;  Jardinier  will  tell  you,  as  an  Etonian 


A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE.        113 

— for  the  J  do  teach  Latin  there,  if  they  don't  teach 
orthography — means  to  admire,  not  to  he  admired ; 
and  old  Horace  almost  in  the  same  breath  that  he  re- 
commends the  nil  admirari  as  the  one  recipe  for  real 
distinction,  declares  against  you  when  he  avows  that 
it  is  pleasant  to  be  pointed  out  with  the  finger,  and  to 
have  it  said  of  you  "that's  the  fellow!"  But  the  truth  is 

You  have  won  of  late 
Golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people, 
Which  should  be  worn  while  new,  being  in  the  gloss, 
Not  cast  aside  so  soon — 

and  as  my  protege  and  pet-lion,  in  some  sort,  I  desire 
to  see  you  maintain  yourself  with  all  your  blushing 
honors  thick  about.  But  hold  ! — your  pardon — Amer- 
icans don't  blush,  I  fancy." 

""  Precious  honors  truly,  to  be  envied  by  Jardinier, 
pronounced  almost  the  equal  of  Bellamy,  and  pro- 
nounced '  so-so'  with  a  shrug  of  the  aristocratic  shoul- 
ders of  the  noble  Cheshire." 

"'Whatever  it  is  worth  while  to  do  at  all,  it  is 
worth  the  while  to  do  well.'  I  think  yesterday  I 
heard  you  pronounce  that  sentiment  almost  admirable. 
Yet  now  that  you  have  wrested  admiration  even  from 
the  admired,  behold  I  out  breaks  the  lightning  gleam 
of  Byronian  or  Satanic  sneer,  and  the  hero  of  the 
minute  waxes  too  proud  to  be  proud  of  his  own  success. 
Oh,  Virginia  !  Virginia,  is  this  the  philosophy  of  thy 
first  families  !" 

"  A  truce  !  a  truce  !  no  more  of  that,  an  thou  lov'st 
me  Hall,  and  I  will  cry  Peccavi!  but  upon  my  soul 
this  exceeding  desire  for  the  approbation  of  fox-hunt- 
ing Lords,  appears  to  a  poor  republican,  such  as  I, 
somewhat  contemptible." 

"  Not  that  they  are  English  Lords,  but  that  they  are 
English  Fox-hunters,  that  is  to  say  the  fox-hunters  of 
the  world  par  excellence.  But  let  us  see  most  doughty 
176 


114        A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE. 

compatriot  of  Washington,  most  philosophic  fellow- 
citizen  of  Franklin,  whether  thy  noble  democratic 
ardor,  and  fine  contempt  of  aristocratic  admiration, 
will  lead  you  to  indifference  as  intact  and  superb  to- 
ward the  admiration  of  the  fox-hunting  ladies,  as  of 
their  fox-hunting  lords.  That  will  be  proved.  Colo- 
nel, this  very  evening.  Look  that  you  tarnish  not 
your  new  won  laurels." 

"  This  evening — how  ?  what  do  you  mean,  count  ?" 
cried  Fairfax,  with  his  eyes  sparkling  and  a  deeper 
hue  coloring  his  nut-brown  cheek — for  he  fancied 
himself  smitten  with  one  of  the  fair  sister  goddesses 
of  yester-even,  to  whom  he  supposed  Matuschevitz  to 
allude,  though  he  did  not  exactly  know  whether  it  was 
the  volatile  and  bright  brunette  of  Cheshire  or  the 
voluptuous,  soft,  blonde  Isabella  A*. 

"  Did  you  not  know  that  there's  a  Hunt-Ball  to- 
night ?  The  Hunt-Ball.  Every  thing  worth  seeing 
within  a  hundred  miles  round  Belvoir  will  be  there  ! 
Look  to  yourself  once  more.  Jardinier  boasts,  if  you 
did  beat  him  at  the  Whissendine,  he  can  beat  you  at  a 
gallope.  There  will  be  one  girl  in  the  rooms,  he'll 
bet  a  poney,  won't  dance  a  war-dance  with  any  In- 
dian, whatever  the  men  may  say  of  it!" 

"Name!  name!"  cried  Fairfax,  laughing,  "name 
your  girl,  and  I'll  stake  the  poney.  Name,  your  girl, 
as  they  say  in  the  house.  Count,  or  never  more  be 
friend  of  mine." 

"I  never  break  faith,"  replied  the  Count  gravely, 
"  even  with  Jardinier.  I  will  only  tell  you  that  she 
has  the  prettiest  name  of  any  girl  in  the  room,  when 
you  find  it  out." 

"  Confound  her  name,  one  don't  flirt  with  names, 
much  less  fall  in  love  with  them.  Has  she  the  pret- 
tiest face,  the  prettiest  person  in  the  room  ?  Is  her 
hair  as  fine,  her  eyes  as  bright  as  Lady  Cheshire's  ? 
Her  arms  as  round,  her  shoulders  as    dimpled    her 


A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE.         115 

bust  as  exquisite  as  Isabella  A  *  1  ?  If  so,  my  lord 
Jardinier,  have  at  you!" 

"  You  must  find  out,  Colonel ;  you  must  find  out, 
for  after  all  it's  all  opinion,  you  know.  Skin-deep  ! 
Skin-deep  !  what  have  politicians  like  you  and  I  to  do 
with  waists,  and  busts,  and  beauty?" 

"  Talleyrand  was  a  politician.  Count,  and  Lieven  is 
an  ambassador,  and  Marie  Esterhazy  an  ambassa- 
dress." 

^'  True,  most  republican,"  cried  Matuschevitz,  but 
before  he  could  proceed  farther  a  shout  came  from  be- 
hind, as  they  cantered  along  a  green  lane  leading  to 
the  high  road,  heard  clear  above  the  clatter  of  the 
galloping  hoofs  ;  and  the  next  moment  the  fine,  portly 
person  of  the  Duke  of  Beaufort  reined  up  beside 
them. 

"  AVhat  ho  !  Count — what  ho !  Colonel  Fairfax,  ex- 
cuse ceremony,  pray,  and  dine  with  me  en  garcon. 
We  shall  not  sit  late,  but  be  good  boys,  for  we  must 
be  at  the  Hunt  ball.  You  go,  of  course.  Colonel  Fair- 
fax— of  course  they  have  sent  you  a  card.  Every 
body  will  be  there — that  is  to  say,  every  body  of  the 
three  hundred  people  whom  every  body  calls  every 
body." 

"  Thanks,  Duke,  I  shall  be  very  happy.  I  never 
heard  of  the  ball  'till  Matuschevitz  named  it  just  now. 
But  I  think  I  should  like  to  go,  that  is  to  say,  if  they 
have  sent  me  a  card." 

"There  is  no  if  about  that,"  said  the  duke.  "If 
any  one  had  known  you  were  coming,  before  you  made 
your  appearance,  from  Cafii'aria  or  the  moon,  as  some 
of  these  hereditary  geniuses  seem  to  suppose,  you 
would  have  found  your  table  covered  with  such  things. 
As  it  is  I  know  it  was  spoken  of  last  night." 

"And  I  know  it  was  sent  this  morning,"  rejoined 
the  Russian,  "  for  it  came  under  cover  to  me  before 
breakfast ;  but  I  did  not  say  a  word  about  it  to  him, 


116        A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE. 

for,  although  I  well  knew  that  my  Hyperborean  blood 
could  endure  the  prospect  of  the  blaze  of  beauty  to 
which  it  will  be  exposed  to-night,  I  feared  lest  the 
southern  temperament  of  this  ardent  son  of  Virginia 
would  be  inflamed  beyond  all  hope  of  his  '  witching 
the  world  with  noble  horsemanship.'  " 

"  Which  he  certainly  has  done,  or  ought  to  have 
done  to-day,"  said  the  Duke,  with  a  smile  and  a  half 
apologetical  bow  to  Fairfax,  and  then  added,  "  you 
must  pardon  me  for  seeming  to  flatter  you  to  your 
face,  but  frankly  you  have  gone  to-day  as  no  provin- 
cial, much  more  no  foreigner  has  ever  gone  before 
you ;  all  our  best  and  oldest  sportsmen  admit  that ; 
and  Jardinier,  sweet  youth,  is  well  prepared  to  cut  his 
own  throat  at  thought  of  your  victory." 

"  How  fatal  a  victory,  if  it  should  deprive  England 
of  so  bright  an  ornament  to  the  peerage." 

"And  Bellamy  would  undoubtedly  have  been  as 
well  prepared  to  cut  yours,  if  he  and  his  good-natured 
horse  had  not  got  themselves  pounded  so  early  in  the 
run,  that  it  was  not  you,  but  Bellamy,  who  beat  Bel- 
lamy," said  Matuschevitz,  for  all  the  world  were  in 
the  habit  of  talking  openly  about  these  worthies. 

"  Pleasant  fellows,  very  !"  said  Fairfax,  drily. 

"Very  pleasant,  colonel,"  said  the  Duke,  "but 
pardon  me  for  saying  to  you  as  a  stranger,  that  we 
make  it  a  point  to  take  no  notice  whatever  of  their 
rudeness — which  never  becomes  impertinence  at  least 
with  their  equals  or  superiors,  but  is  limited  to  brusque 
coarseness,  or  dogged  ill-temper — except  by  silent  con- 
tempt, a  sharp  epigram,  or  a  quick  jest  at  their  ex- 
pense. This  puts  them  so  utterly  wrong  that  they 
dare  not  quarrel,  turns  the  laugh  against  them,  and 
increases  their  mulish  sullenness.  For  let  me  say  to 
you,  and  do  not  think  I  am  presuming  to  lecture  you, 
that  what  is  considered  the  worst  thing  against  a  nian 
in  England,  except  refusing  to  fight,  is  fighting  a  duel. 


AND  A  BELLE.  117 

Public  opinion  of  men  of  his  own  caste  arranges  the 
things  here  for  a  man,  which  in  France,  or  with  you 
I  presume,  would  be  settled  by  the  small-sword,  or 
the  rifle." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Duke,  and,  so  far 
from  fancying  that  you  are  lecturing  me,  know  that 
the  greatest  favor  a  gentleman  in  your  position  can 
confer  upon  a  stranger  in  his  own  country  is  to  make 
him  au  fait,  to  those  small  usages  of  society,  to 
which  no  foreigner  can  be  up,  on  his  first  arrival." 

"  I  certainly  should  not  have  said  as  much  to  every 
one." 

"  And  I  certainly  must  say  that  Lord  Jardinier  was 
to-day  unpardonably  rude  to  me,  not  only  as  a  foreigner 
but  as  a  personal  stranger." 

"  He  was,  indeed,  and  he  will  be  told  so  at  a  proper 
time,  from  a  quarter  whence  he  will  regard  what  he  is 
told.  I  was  afraid  only  that  you  would  have  conde- 
scended to  resent  it,  to  do  which,  I  assure  you,  would 
have  been  a  descent." 

"  My  dear  duke,"  replied  Fairfax,  earnestly  and 
gratefully,  "if  you  will  permit  me  so  to  call  you,  I 
am  not,  though  I  hope  a  thorough  American,  one  of 
those  propagandizing,  make-mischiefs,  and  marplots, 
who  pass  their  whole  time  while  abroad  in  a  lively  at- 
tempt to  render  themselves  as  detestable  and  their 
country  as  ridiculous  as  possible,  by  endeavoring  to 
force  their  own  manners,  I  should  say  want  of  man- 
ners, down  the  throats  of  all  and  sundry.  I  am  quite 
content  when  in  Rome  to  be  as  Romans  are,  and  to 
try  to  conduct  myself  in  every  country,  as  I  see  the 
best  bred  men  of  that  country  conduct  themselves. 
For  this,  I  have  no  doubt,  I  shall  be  denounced  at 
home,  if  they  ever  learn  it,  by  all  the  stump  orators 
of  the  great  unterrified  from  Maine  to  Mississippi,  as 
a  soulless  southern  aristocrat,  and  as  a  fawning  flat- 
terer of  European  monarchists.     But  I  don't  think 


118        A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE. 

that  will  deter  me  mucli  from  any  course  I  judge  it 
good  to  follow." 

"I  do  not  think  it  will,  colonel,"  said  the  duke, 
with  a  quiet  smile,  "  and  if  you  stand  the  artillery  of 
our  ladies'  eyes,  as  coolly  as  you  do  the  puppyism  of 
our  scape-graces,  and  the — what  shall  I  call  it,  of  your 
sovereign  lords  and  masters  the  people,  I  shall  set  you 
down  as  second  in  insouciance  only  to  that  far-famed 
hero  in  the  play,  who,  when  his  wife  was  consumed  at 
table  by  spontaneous  combustion,  was  disturbed  so  far 
only  from  his  equable  indifference,  as  to  desire  John 
to  ^  sweep  up  his  mistress  and  bring  clean  glasses.'  " 

"The  new  test  will  be  the  hardest,"  said  Fairfax, 
laughing,  "  if  they  are  all  as  lovely  as  two  we  saw 
last  evening." 

"Not  all — oh !  no,  not  all,  but  plenty,"  said  Beau- 
fort, "  and  plenty  too,  more  attainable  or  at  least 
more  legitimately  so,  as  not  being  yet  appropriated 
girls,  than  which  Henry  R says,  all  married  wo- 
men are  nothing  else." 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  Matuschevitz,  "the  appro- 
priated will  find  the  colonel  more  dangerous,  than  the 
unappropriated.  He  is  not  much  of  a  marrying  man 
I've  a  notion." 

'^1  guess,  you  ought  to  say,  count." 

"  Luckily  for  him  if  it  be  so.  For  he'll  see  one  un- 
appropriated to-night  who  will  as  certainly  gallop  into 
his  heart,  if  it  has  an  open  gate  or  a  practicable  fence 
into  it,  as  he  would  have  gallopped  into  hers  if  she  had 
been  out  to-day.     Hey,  Matuschevitz?" 

"  Not  a  word  more,  duke,"  cried  the  plenipo,  "not 
a  word  more,  or  he'll  be  on  his  guard,  on  his  high 
horse,  and,  which  is  worse  than  all,  on  his  Virginian 
high  mightiness-ship  !  Besides,  there's  a  bet  about  it 
already!" 

"What,  the  same?"  asked  Fairfax  gaily,  "the 
same,  whom  I  am  to  detect  untaught,  the  gare  a  elU  ! 


AND  A  BELLE.  119 

gave  a  lui !  I  dare  all  to  the  lists,  though  upon  my 
life,  I  have  not  ridden  at  the  ring,  since  the  last  tour- 
nament I  witnessed  at  the  White  Sulphur  Springs, 
where  I,  in  the  fifteenth  year  of  my  precocity,  bore 
away  the  ring  against  all  comers,  all  for  the  love  of 
Sukey  Smithson,  whom  I  crowned  queen  of  love  and 
beauty,  two  days  before  she  eloped  with  a  long,  slab- 
sided  Vermont  midshipman  as  green  as  the  mountains 
that  he  came  from,  with  a  laugh  like  a  horse's  neigh, 
and  a  voice  like  an  asthmatic  bag-pipe.  After  that 
my  lacerated  heart  became  hard  as  the  nether  mill- 
stone, and  I  defy — " 

"■  Don't  be  rash,  don't  be  rash.  And  what  is  more 
to  the  purpose,  don't  be  late  for  dinner ;  to-day  it  is 
sharp  score.  This  lane  takes  me  to  my  stables,  that 
to  yours.     Au  7'evoir  T' 

"  Au  revoir.  JSe  is  a  gentleman,  at  least,"  said 
Fairfax  to  his  friend,  as  they  turned  off  homeward. 

"One  often  thousand,  Fairfax,"  said  the  count, 
"  and  what  is  more  to  your  purpose,  he  thinks  you  one. 
I  never  saw  or  heard  of  his  concerning  himself  so  far 
as  to  advise  any  foreigner  before,  though  I  have 
seen  him  made  known  to  hundreds,  myself  among  the 
number." 

"  Advice  from  him,  at  all  events,  is  a  compliment, 
and  in  this  case  worth  having,  and  what  is  more 
taking.  And  now  for  some  advice  from  you — since  I 
have  letters  to  write  which  will  keep  me  busy  'till  din- 
ner time — what  is  the  dress  den'giieu?',  for  a  hunt-ball, 
a  thing  unknown  to  us  Caffrarians  ?  Is  there  a  cos- 
tume?" 

"  Yes  !  for  the  stewards,  and  members  proper  of  the 
club — pinks  with  white  waistcoats,  continuations,  and 
silk  stockings.  For  nous  autres^l'nm  evening  dresses, 
selon  moi  the  plainer  the  better,  but  you  must  take 
your   choice   between    the   simple   and   the  sublime, 


120  A  BALL  EOOxAf,  AND  A  BELLE. 

whether  to  win  by  sap,  or  conquer  by  assault,  and  who 
a  better  judge?" 

Two  or  three  hours  later  the  friends  met  again,  and 
somewhat  to  the  surprise,  but  yet  more  to  the  pleasure 
of  Matuschevitz,  Fairfax  made  his  appearance  per- 
fectly well  dressed,  but  without  any  thing  of  that  over 
elaborate  or  dressy  air  Vvdiich  he  sometimes  adopted 
much  to  his  detriment,  as  it  must  necessarily  be  to 
that  of  all  dark-haired  and  dark-complexioned  men. 
His  linen  was  exquisite,  and  his  white  waistcoat  sheeny 
as  if  it  had  been  varnished,  with  large  oriental  pearls, 
the  only  valuable  things  he  wore;  as  his  well-starched 
waistcoat,  and  well-polished  shoes  were  the  only  bright 
things.  For  the  rest  his  coat  did  not  look  the  least 
as  if  it  had  been  stitched  upon  his  back,  and  his 
trowsers  did  look  as  if  they  had  been  made  to  walk, 
to  dance,  or  even  to  sit  down  in.  Certainly  he  was  a 
very  well  made,  a  very  handsome,  and  a  very  well, 
though  not  extensively,  got  up  man  ;  and  Matusche- 
vitz thought  so  as  he  surveyed  him,  with  a  slight  nod 
of  approbation.  But  the  next  minute  he  nodded  more 
drolly  and  said,  with  an  arch  smile  : 

''  What  is  this,  colonel  ?  I  don't  see  a  vast  diamond 
breastpin,  worth  a  cargo  of  tobacco,  in  your  shirt  bo- 
som ;  and  I  don't  smell  patchouli  on  your  handker- 
chief." 

^'  No,  3fo7isieur  V Ambassadeur,  grace  au  bon 
Dieu  !  You  don't  see  a  New  York  merchant-prince 
snob,  or  a  young  New  York  japonicadom  snob,  before 
you  ;  but  simply  a  Virginian  gentleman." 

"  Of  the  first  families !"  said  the  Russian  with  a 
low  inclination,  as  the  French  novelists  call  it,  when 
they  want  to  be  excruciating.  "  Now  let's  go  to  din- 
ner." And  they  went  to  dinner,  and  a  mighty  plea- 
sant dinner  it  was  too,  as  who  ever  heard  of  Beaufort 
giving  a  dinner  which  was  not  pleasant.  Every  thing 
was  exquisite,  nothing /we  from  the  champagne  to  the 


A  BALL  ROOM,  AXD  A  BELLE.        121 

conversation ;  every  thing  was  of  course,  and  every 
body  from  the  gentlemen,  to  the  gentlemen's  gentle- 
men, showed  that  they  felt  it  to  be  so.  Again  Fairfax 
^vas  surprised  that  among  a  bachelor  party  of  sports- 
men not  a  word  of  dog  or  horse  talk — among  a  party 
of  fox-hunters  not  a  word  of  fox-hunting — among  a 
party  of  hereditary  legislators,  not  a  word  of  politics 
was  spoken.  The  only  possible  allusion  to  the  pur- 
pose of  their  congregation  at  Melton,  discoverable 
during  the  evening,  was  when  a  very  old  and  very  il- 
lustrious peer,  himself  an  old  master  of  fox  hounds, 
who  sat  opposite  to  him,  but  to  whom  he  had  not  been 
introduced,  asked  him  to  drink  champagne,  and  hoped 
he  was  well  enough  satisfied  with  his  first  day  at 
Melton. 

Fairfax  was  sorry  when  the  dinner  party  broke  up, 
so  quickly  had  the  hours  flown,  and  so  gay  and  clever 
withal  had  been  the  table  talk,  with  no  great  guest  to 
monopolize  and  oratorize,  but  a  dozen  skilful  players 
ready  to  catch  up  the  ball  of  conversation  ere  it  fell, 
cast  it  back  each  to  his  neighbor,  and  maintain  an  in- 
cessant fire  of  repartee  and  epigram  and  persiflage, 
mixed  with  much  poetry  and  some  few  touches  of 
romance,  but  nothing  of  enthusiasm  or  even  eagerness. 

He  was  half  inclined,  before  he  entered  the  ball-room, 
to  wish  that  the  ball  was  at  the  devil,  for  taking  him 
away  from  the  dinner  party  ;  but  before  he  had  been 
in  the  room  half  an  hour,  he  almost  wished  the  dinner 
party  had  been  at  the  devil  for  keeping  him  so  long 
away  from  the  ball. 

The  rooms  were  filling,  but  not  yet  full  when  the 
party  entered  with  Fairfax  in  the  middle,  for  he  did 
not  think  it  necessary  because  he  was  a  republican  to 
prove  his  republicanism  by  taking  the  pas  of  peers  of 
the  realm  on  their  own  ground. 

The  first  coup  d'oeil  of  the  rooms  did  not  strike  him 
very  much,  for  there  was  none  at  all  of  the  pomp  and 


122        A  BALL  nOOM,  AND  A  BELLE. 

false  glare  and  glitter  to  wliicli  he  had  been  used  in 
the  United  States  and  on  the  European  Continent. 
WsRls  of  plain  white  enamel  with  the  slightest  gold 
moulding,  white  muslin  curtains,  plain  benches  and 
settees  of  bamboo  around  the  walls,  a  profusion  of 
wax  lights  in  cut  glass  chandeliers,  that  was  all.  No 
ormolu,  no  marquetry,  no  velvet,  no  brocade,  no  at- 
tempts in  the  furniture  at  the  Middle  Ages  or  the  re- 
naissance. But  the  floor  was  waxed  'till  it  was  as 
slippery  as  ice,  the  music  admirable,  for  it  was  flippant, 
and  the  assemblage  such  as  no  other  land  can  show. 
But,  then,  the  women — women,  mature  in  youthful 
beauty,  delicate,  graceful,  and  slender  of  proportion, 
yet  perfect  in  the  rounded  symmetry,  the  soft  swell- 
ing charms  of  Hebe's  lovely  womanhood,  with  eyes, 
hair,  shapes,  unrivalled ;  diff'erent  from  all  other  women  ; 
from  the  girls,  the  exquisite  frail  sylph-like  girls  of 
America,  with  slender  swaying  willowy  shapelyness 
of  form,  and  colorless,  pearly-white  complexions, 
never  alas !  or  scarcely  once  in  a  thousand  times,  to 
be  developed  into  the  full-blown  ripeness  of  form,  or 
the  rich  flush  of  perfect  beauty ;  but  to  fade  away,  too 
soon,  and  wither  ere  their  prime  half-budded — from 
the  irregular  features  and  angular  forms  of  the  women 
of  la  belle  France,  unequalled  in  the  secrets  of  car- 
riage and  demeanor,  in  the  mysteries  of  the  toilet,  in 
the  affectations,  coquetries,  misauderies,  of  grace,  per- 
fect in  all  the  artificial,  but  how  deficient  in  the  natu- 
ral beauties  of  the  sex. 

And  the  men,  the  flower  of  manly  power  and  mas- 
culine grace,  easy  of  bearing,  courteous,  calm,  self- 
possessed,  and  most  afiable  to  those  farthest  below, 
because  confident  of  their  own  position — admirably 
dressed,  yet  perfectly  unconscious  that  they  are 
dressed  at  all,  graceful,  because  grace  of  carriage  is 
native  to  the  well-made,  well-nurtured,  the  well-born 
— dancing  and  dressing  and  bearing  themselves,  in  a 


AND  A  BELLE.  123 

word,  like  gentlemen ;  that  is  to  say  as  unlike  as  pos- 
sible to  New  York  dandies,  or  Frenchmen  their  mo- 
dels, or  dancing-masters,  the  archetypes  of  both — 
their  tailors  and  dancing  masters  being  merged  in  the 
gentlemen,  not  the  gentlemen  lost  in  the  conscious- 
ness and  concentration  of  dancing-master,  posturer, 
and  tailor. 

In  such  company  as  that,  there  is  never  a  blush,  a 
surprise,  or  even  an  enthusiasm,  much  less  a  flutter  at 
the  entrance  even  of  royalty,  except  on  state  occa- 
sions, and  then  shown  only  by  a  stir  and  silence.  No 
excitement,  therefore,  occurred  as  the  Duke's  party 
entered,  though  it  was  composed  of  the  very  cream  of 
the  men  of  Melton  Mowbray,  the  favorites  of  the  fair, 
the  flower  of  the  peers  of  England.  There  is  little 
demonstrativeness  in  the  English  character,  unless 
when  the  heart  of  England  is  stirred  to  its  core  by 
some  grand  emotion. 

Therefore  the  girls  went  on,  just  as  usual,  flirting 
and  chatting  and  laughing,  with  that  low,  soft,  into- 
nated voice,  that  infectious  ringing  laughter  pecu- 
liar to  themselves,  with  their  partners  in  the  pauses 
of  the  dance — the  married  belles  flirted,  and  talked 
more  earnestly  as  they  sat  in  corners  with  their  fa- 
vorites— the  nice  young  men  philandered,  the  exqui- 
sites sauntered  and  simpered,  the  puppies  impudently 
stared  and  ogled,  and  the  lady-killers  made  deep,  low, 
earnest  love  in  whispers ;  and  no  notice  was  taken  of 
the  new  comers  beyond  a  sidelong  glance  shot  from 
beneath  the  lashes  of  some  young  beauty  seeming  to 
say,  I  wish  it  were  you  instead  of  this  dandy  sim- 
pleton. 

Before  they  had  stood,  however,  five  minutes  within 
the  door»tlie  set  of  quadrilles  ended,  and  the  dancers 
breaking  up  into  a  promenading  crowd,  left  the  floor 
practicable,  and  our  group  at  once  dispersed,  each  in 
quest  of  his  peculiar  lady. 


124        A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE. 

Fairfax  liad  discovered,  immedi^-tely  on  his  entrance, 
the  only  two  lady  acquaintances  he  had  made  at  Mel- 
ton, the  dark-flashing  Cheshire,  and  the  sweet  languid 
Isabella  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  and  had  been 
discovered  in  turn,  as  the  slight  nod  and  smiling  glance 
and  wafting  of  the  welcoming  fan  told  him  ;  and  he 
w\as  making  his  way  slowly  toward  them  through  the 
highborn  throng,  who  were  all  by  chance  streaming  in 
the  same  direction,  when  a  pair  glided  sidelong  into 
the  string  close  before  him,  so  that  he  could  only  see 
their  backs,  who  yet  rivetted  for  a  moment  his  atten- 
tion. The  gentleman  was  young,  and  much  like  other 
young  gentlemen,  but  there  was  that  about  the  female 
figure  that  could  not  have  been  overlooked  in  any 
crowded  mart  of  beauty. 

It  was  only  her  back  that  met  the  eye  of  Fairfax, 
but  he  was  a  connoisseur  in  female  charms,  and  even 
from  that  slight  glance,  he  knew  that  she  before  him 
was  a  perfect  woman.  A  figure  considerably  above 
the  middle  stature,  for  her  classically  shaped  and  ex- 
quisitely set  on  head  rose  far  above  her  partner's  shoul- 
der, coukl  not  have  been  called  tall,  so  perfectly  was  it 
proportioned  ;  a  long  rounded  swan-like  neck,  broad, 
sloping  shoulders,  white  and  firm  as  Parian  marble, 
with  a  soft,  satin  skin,  so  plump  and  dimpled  that  they 
wooed  the  touch  almost  irresistibly  ;  a  waist  shaped  to 
love's  wish,  not  whaleboned  into  deformity,  as  every 
supple  and  sinuous  motion  showed,  but  capable  to  fill 
the  arms  of  an  Antinous  ;  a  fall  of  white  satin  dra- 
peries below,  so  fully  flowing  in  lines  so  serpentine  and 
suggestive  that  the  perfection  of  the  form  and  motion 
they  concealed  could  not  be  questioned;  a  mass  of 
silky,  glistening  braids  knotted  low  down  at  the  nape 
with  a  flood  of  mazy  ringlets  of  half  dishe"velled  hair, 
of  that  pale,  pale  brown  which  but  for  its  golden  ra- 
diance would  be  called  flaxen,  waving  beside  each  rosy 
ear  quite  to  the  shoulder ;  a  pair  of  white  dimpled 


AXD  A  BELLE.  125 

arms  sTiaded  only  by  a  lace  sleeve  of  a  hands-breadth 
below  the  shoulder,  with  one  massive  gold  bracelet 
and  short  white  gloves  lace-fringed — that  was  all. 
Yet  it  was  enough  to  inspire  Percy  Fairfax  with — 
what  ?  Aye,  what  ? — Not  love,  fair  and  gentle  reader, 
no — certainly  not  love.  But  a  sensation,  half  of  rest- 
less curiosity  to  see  the  front  and  face  of  that  soft  and 
graceful  form  ;  half  of  wonder  if  the  features  were  m 
harmony  with  the  harmonious  shape  and  movement ; 
were  the  eyes  deeply,  beautifully  blue,  or  was  it  but  a 
pale,  insipid  white-eyed  and  white-eyebrowed  blonde, 
that  swam  so  swan-like,  yet  so  womanly  withal,  before 
him  ?  And  he  half  smiled  at  his  own  romance,  as  ho 
caught  himself  fancying  that  he  had  met  that  woman's 
figure ;  for  he  set  her  down  at  once  too  full  blown  for  a 
girl ;  somewhere — was  it  in  his  dreams  ?  before,  and, 
yet  more  absurd  that  she  was  in  somewise  connected 
with  his  own  fate. 

But  his  ball-room  romance  was  soon  and  shortly 
ended.  He  reached  the  spot  where  the  sister-graces, 
of  whom  he  was  in  quest,  stood  revealed  before  him, 
and  ere  the  fair  unknown  had  turned  so  far  as  to  show 
him  so  much  as  the  outline  of  a  cheek,  he  halted,  in 
pleasure  as  in  duty  bound,  slave  to  those  Cynthias  of 
the  minute.  And  the  light,  merry  welcome,  and  the 
gentle  persiflage  half  just  concealing  real  praise,  hail- 
ing him 

"  Victor  of  tlie  day, 
And  champion  of  well-won  fi'ay, 
Even  as  the  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 
And  Lutterworth  and  Scrivelbave, 
And  Tamworth  tower,  and  town — " 

and  that  most  fascinating  of  all  flatteries,  the  mute 
adulation  of  a  beautiful  woman's  eyes,  long  detained 
him ;  and  the  memory  of  soft  dimpled  shoulders  and 
pale  golden  tresses 


126        A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE. 

*'  In  which  a  ray 
Of  the  enamored  sun  had  lost  its  way," 

was  soon  obliterated  by  the  wreathed  smiles  and  elo- 
quent floating  glances  of  the  siren  Cheshire. 

Men  came  up  too,  and  gathered  around  the  sisters, 
and  all  that  inimitable  grace  of  frank,  natural,  unre- 
strained mirth  and  merriment,  and  quip  and  epigram, 
unattainable  except  by  the  highly  cultivated,  flashed 
round  him.  He  was  enchanted  by  the  brilliancy  of 
all  about  him,  and,  drinking  in  the  inspiration,  was  not 
himself  the  least  brilliant  of  the  group. 

Suddenly  looking  up  in  his  face,  the  dark  enchan- 
tress over  whom  he  was  leaning,  dazzled  and  en- 
chanted, but  not  touched,  said  with  afi"ected  innocence, 
^'but  why  do  you  loiter  here  with  us  matrons,  as  they 
call  us ;  why  are  not  you  dancing  with  some  of  our 
blue-eyed  belles  ;  you  ought  to  swear  by  blue  eyes  for 
the  contrast's  sake.  Do  you  never  dance.  Colonel 
Fairfax  ?" 

"  Never,  unless  it  be  the  war-dance  with  my  tribe, 
as  Lord  Jardinier  will  have  it.  But  I  will  try,  if  you 
will  help  me." 

"•  I'll  help  you  to  do  any  thing ;  but  I'm  mistakefn 
if  you  are  not  pretty  good  at  helping  yourself,  sir." 

So  she  laid  her  little  white  gloved-hand  on  the  right 
shoulder  of  his  black  coat,  and  yielding  her  waist  to 
his  arm  stepped  forward  to  join  the  galloppade,  the 
performers  in  which  were  standing  just  in  front  of 
them.  And,  as  they  waited  for  their  turn,  he  was  im- 
pressing on  her  mind  with  earnest  words  how  intensely 
he  admired  black  eyes  and  sparkling  brunettes,  and 
how  insipid  he  thought  all  blondes  and  all  blue  eyes, 
when  he  suddenly  lifted  his  own  eyes  from  the  espiegle 
face  beside  him ;  and  there  close  before  him,  almost  in 
contact  with  liis  partner,  were  the  beautiful  shoulders, 
and  voluptuous  figure,  the  snow-white  neck  and  golden 
ringlets  of  the  unknown.     She  was  just  moving  for- 


A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  SELLE.        127 

ward  in  the  first  steps  of  the  galloppe— it  was  that  bril- 
liant and  favorite  one  from  the  postillion  with  the 
clinking  bells  and  cracking  whip,  and  all  the  couples 
were  wheeling  at  their  utmost  speed — ^when  down 
came,  leading  and  outstripping  all  the  dance,  Jardinier, 
and  merriest,  prettiest,  and  sauciest  of  spirits.  Carry 
Free,  and  as  they  whirled  round,  the  rough-dancing 
as  well  as  rough-riding,  insolent  peer  came  into  rude 
contact  with  Fairfax's  belle  unknown,  and  that  so  for- 
cibly as  to  send  her  reeling  back  from  her  partner's 
support.  She  slipped  on  the  slippery  floor,  lost  her 
balance,  fell — but,  in  an  instant,  almost  before  she 
w^as  off  her  equilibrium,  the  stout  arm  of  Fairfax  had 
caught  her,  gently  but  steadily,  round  the  waist,  and 
set  her  fairly  on  her  feet,  ere  one  flowing  line  of  her 
draperies  was  disordered.  It  was  but  a  second,  but 
in  that  second  her  soft  round  shoulder  had  weighed 
hard  on  his  breast,  and  those  silky,  golden  ringlets 
had  fanned  his  face,  the  fragrance — I  know  not  what 
it  is,  certainly  not  perfume — of  highborn  beauty  had 
penetrated  his  very  soul. 

Perfectly  self-possessed,  desirous  to  avoid  eclat,  and 
anxious  to  spare  her  the  embarrassment  of  having 
rested  but  for  an  instant  in  a  stranger's  arms,  he  re- 
covered his  place  by  his  partner's  side,  and,  as  she 
turned  to  see  who  had  helped  her,  with  thanks  on  her 
tongue,  intentionally  bowed  so  low  as  to  avoid  her 
eyes,  sure  more  by  instinct  than  by  sight,  that  she 
half  curtsied,  and  the  next  moment  was  whirling 
away  with  the  brilliant  Cheshire  at  a  rate  and  with 
an  ea^e  that  showed  him  no  novice  in  that  graphic 
dance. 

Panting  as  she  was  and  out  of  breath,  when  they 
paused,  his  dark  enchantress,  who  had  noted  all  that 
passed,  not  unpleased,  for  she  attributed  his  noncha- 
lance, as  she  fancied  it,  to  the  impression  she  had 
made  upon  him — not  that  she  cared  for  him  the  nine- 


128        A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE. 

tietli  part  of  one  of  her  own  jet  black  love-locks,  but 
that  she  wasfemme  et  coquette  jusq  aux  ongles — said, 
as  she  leaned  on  him  for  support : 

*'  That  was  beautiful.  Colonel  Fairfax.  Beautifully 
done — Foi  de  Cheshire,  you  are  a  veritable  preux  che- 
valier. And  such  a  pretty,  self-obliged  bow  too.  You 
don't  know  what  that  bow  cost  you.  The  softest  blush, 
and  the  most  grateful  glance,  and  the  nicest  curtsy 
from  the  prettiest  girl  in  England,  so  the  gentlemen 
call  her." 

"  Is  she  pretty  ?  I  did  not  see  her  face  at  all,  and 
from  her  figure  I  did  not  fancy  her  a  girl — a  little  en 
embonpoint ;  is  she  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  perhaps  so,"  said  Ches,  the  fault  of  whose 
tournure  was  the  reverse  of  embonpoint,  "•  perhaps  a 
little  ;  but  she  is  a  girl,  quite  a  girl,  not  above  eighteen, 

and  unappropriated  too,  as  De  R calls  it.     Yes, 

she  is  very  pretty,  but  I  suppose  you  would  not  think 
so,  for  she  is  very  blonde.  Look  at  her  now,  she  is 
coming  directly  toward  us." 

Turning  quietly  around,  Fairfax  saw  her,  and  al- 
most started,  so  extreme  was  his  surprise  and  admira- 
tion. If  the  figure  were  exquisite  as  seen  from  be- 
hind, what  was  it  in  full  face,  a  bust  of  ideal  symmetry 
such  as  no  nymph  or  goddess  ever  wore  in  the  Parian 
of  Praxiteles  or  Phidias,  warm,  palpitating,  white  as 
snow,  tinged  with  a  faint  sunset  flush,  intersected  by 
myriads  of  small  sinuous  veins  of  azure ;  a  waist  to 
be  imagined  not  described,  and  then  the  downward 
sweep  of  those  most  womanly  outlines ;  and  the  small 
feet  peering  out  timidly  from  beneath  the  hem  of  her 
train 

Suggesting  the  more  secret  symmetry 

Of  those  fair  forms,  that  terminate  so  well ; 

and  then  the  face,  the  more  than  Corinthian  capital  of 


AND  A  BELLE.  129 

the   human  column — was  it  that  of  a  pale-eyed,  in- 
sipid, white-browed  blonde — or — ? 

"My  God!  how  wonderfully  lovely !"  rose  almost 
to  the  lips  of  Fairfax,  but  he  checked  the  impulse,  and 
gazed  in  mute  wonder,  silent  adoration.  Was  ever 
any  thing  so  strangely,  wonderfully,  beautiful. 

Those  exuberant  masses  of  soft  light  hair,  every 
mazy  tendril  glittering  in  the  candle  light  a  ring  of 
gold — that  low,  broad,  ivory  forehead,  those  straight 
fine-cut  brows,  and  long-fringed  lashes,  black  as  night ; 
those  large  eyes,  deep,  deep  velvet  brown,  humid  and 
lustrous ;  the  regular  oval  of  the  pale,  transparent 
face ;  the  shapely  Grecian  nose,  the  least  in  the  world 
retrousse,  gi^iiig  an  arch  character  to  the  whole ;  the 
dark  carnation  lips,  softly  pouting,  the  pearly  teeth 
sparkling  between  them ;  the  rosy-rounded  chin,  set, 
how  deliciously,  upon  the  swelling  throat 

Percy  Fairfax  had  from  his  boyhood  been  a,  fanatic 
for  beauty,  and — though  he  had  in  badinage  forsworn 
it  to  his  dark  Cleopatra  of  the  minute — a  fanatic  for 
blonde  beauty.  A  poet  and  a  dreamer,  he  had  dreamed 
aif  ideal  not  as  yet  found,  never  he  fancied  to  be  found 
except  in  the  fairy  regions  of  the  mind. 

And  now  she  stood  before  him.  Self-possessed 
conventionalist,  case-hardened  citizen  of  the  world  as 
he  was,  his  heart  fluttered  fast  for  a  minute,  his  brain 
swam,  his  eyes  were  darkened,  he  was  recalled  only  by 
the  arch  voice  and  liquid  laugh  of  the  Cheshire  at  his 
ear. 

"  Oh  !  traitor.  So  you  do  think  the  insipid  blonde 
beautiful !  She  is  unappropriated,  I  told  you.  Colonel, 
shall  I  present  you?" 

*'  Not  for  the  world  !" 

"Not   for   the   world!     La!"    said    Lady    Ches. 
"  Why  ?    Do  you  think  her  too  dangerous  ?    I  thought 
you  did  not  admire  blondes  ?" 
177 


130        A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE. 

"  Who  can  admire  any  one,  when  he  is  at  year  foot* 
stool  ?" 

"  Too  late  !  false  knight,  too  late,"  she  cried,  laugh- 
ing merrily.  "Had  you  said  that  ten  minutes  ago, 
you  might  have  deluded  poor  little  me — who  knows  ? 
by  your  soft  nonsense.  But  now  it  is  too  late.  Never 
try  that  again  with  me,  I  warn  you,  on  your  alle- 
giance;" and  she  shook  her  finger  at  him  in  sportive 
menace. 

Meanwhile  the  beautiful  unknown  was  passing  close 
before  them.  Her  eyes  had  met  the  fiery  glance  of 
Fairfax  rivetted  upon  her,  though  he  lowered  his  the 
moment  they  encountered.  From  the  roots  of  her 
hair  to  the  top  of  her  boddice,  brow,  cheeks,  neck, 
bosom,  she  flushed  crimson,  nay !  her  shoulders 
blushed,  and  her  arms  to  the  fingers'  end,  painfully. 
Her  eyes  sank  to  the  ground  and  she  trembled,  to 
Lady  Cheshire's  observant  glance  visibly,  as  she  went 
by.  She  thought  herself,  perhaps,  avoided,  slighted, 
her  thanks  rejected,  and  the  married  brunette  preferred 
before  her.  Could  it  be  so?  It  might— women  are 
singularly  constituted  creatures,  and  love  to  be  lo\^d 
even  where  they  love  not  themselves — and  are  vexed 
often  to  see  other  women  admired  by  whom  they  care 
not  to  be  admired  themselves.     Was  this  so  now  ?" 

"Now,  Colonel  Fairfax,  I  insist  upon  it — I  will  in- 
troduce you.  She  is  a  beautiful  girl,  as  any  one  must 
be  blind  not  to  see ;  and  as  good  a  little  girl  as  ever 
lived,  and  the  greatest  pet  at  Melton.  And  it  is  really 
too  absurd  that  two  great  grown  up  people,  like  you, 
should  be  making  petite  mine;  she  blushing  to  her  fin- 
gers from  real  shame,  and  vexation  that  you  could  not 
see  and  acknowledge  her  pretty  curtsy  and  mille 
graces  !  and  you  affecting — for  of  course  in  you  it  is 
the  merest  affectation — to  be  very  bashful  and  re- 
tiring all  on  a  sudden.  I  don't  believe  you  were  ever 
ashamed  or  bashful  in  your  life,  mon  Colonel,  moro 


A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE.        131 

especially  with  a  lady  in  the  case,  though  I  dare  say 
you  have  given  plenty  of  them  cause  to  blush,  and  to 
be  ashamed,  too.  Come,  I  always  have  my  own  way 
— and  I  am  resolved  for  once  that  you  shall  know 
Mary  Merton." 

"  Mary  Merton  !  what  a  pretty  name  !" 

*'  So  pretty  that  I  don't  believe  she'd  care  to  change 
it  even  for  Fairfax,  though  you  were  to  ask  her,  in  the 
same  voice  that  you  asked  me  to  dance  with,  half  an. 
hour  since.     What's  your  Christian  name  ?" 

*'  Heavens  !  why  ?     Percy,  at  your  pleasure." 

"  Miss  Mary  Merton — Mrs.  Percy  Fairfax.  I  don't 
know  which  is  prettiest.     Come,  will  you  obey  me  ?" 

"  I'd  rather  not,  indeed.  That  is,  not  just  noiv. 
I'm  sure  she  would  rather  not.  It  will  only  distress 
her.     Did  not  you  see  how  she  blushed  just  now  ?" 

"  I'd  rather  just  now.  I'm  sure  she  would  much 
rather  dance  with  you,  for  you  dance — there  !  don't 
look  up  for  a  compliment — pretty  well,  for  an  Ameri- 
can. It  will  not  distress  her  at  all.  It  never  does 
distress  girls  to  make  them  blush.  Besides,  she  only 
blushed  because  she  thought  you  were  flirting  and 
making  soft  eyes  at  me,  when  all  your  eyes  ought  to 
have  been  on  her,  and  her  li»ttle  curtsy." 

"  You  would  make  me  out  something  very — " 

"  There !  there !  You  need  not  say  that.  Not 
half  so  much  a  something,  as  you  think  of  yourself. 
Show  me  an  American,  who  does  not  think  more  of 
himself  than  any  one  else  does  in  the  wide  world,  and 
I'll  give  you — " 

"No,  will  you?" 

"  Yes — credit  for  modesty.  There — now  stay  just 
where  you  are,  and  talk  to  prosy  old  Lord  Glenlivat, 
but  not  a  glance  or  a  soft  word  to  any  woman  on  your 
life,  'till  I  come  back  to  you." 

And  with  a  playful  gesture  of  command,  she  sailed 
across  the  room  and  placed  herself  beside  Mary  Mer- 


182  A  BALL  ROOM,  ANB  A  BELLE. 

ton,  whose  partner  had  just  seated  her  on  a  sofa  be- 
side a  portly  old  dowager,  and  bowed  himself  off  with 
a  simper. 

She  was  on  an  errand  of  good  nature,  for  she  was 
very,  really,  good  natured;  and  in  spite  of  all  her 
little  flirtations,  and  coquetries,  and  her  love  of  admi- 
ration, and  passion  for  making  men  in  love  with  her 
for  whom  she  did  not  care  a  straw,  and  her  little,  free, 
naughty  speeches — there  was  not  a  bit  of  harm  in  her 
— not  a  bit.  Not  a  breath  even  of  calumny  ever 
soiled  the  whiteness  of  her  ermine,  and  all  the  world 
wondered  how  she  could  be  so  good  a  wife,  and  so  pre- 
serve her  kindness  of  heart  and  purity  of  soul,  when 
coupled  to  so  heartless,  sensual  a  snob  as  Lord  Che- 
shire ;  when  exposed  daily  to  the  contamination  of  his 
presence,  his  conversation,  his  atmosphere,  which  cor- 
rupted all  men^  even,  who  ever  came  within  reach  of 
his  contagion, 

Fairfax  obeyed  orders,  and  talked  with  prosy  old 
Lord  Glenlivat  about  Burgundy  and  Verzenay,  the 
only  topics  within  the  sphere  of  that  noble  intellect ; 
but  still  he  kept  a  furtive  watch  upon  the  pretty  move- 
ments of  the  pretty  creatures  opposite. 

They  shook  hands,  and  smiled,  and  Mary  Merton 
blushed  a  little,  and  looked  down ;  and  Lady  Cheshire 
talked  earnestly  and  eagerly,  and  looked  toward  him- 
self, and  Mary  half  raised  her  eyes,  and  then  blushed 
more,  and  looked  down  more.  And  then  Lady  Ches. 
talked  more  eagerly,  and  gesticulated  more,  and  then 
laughed  heartily,  and  made  Mary  Merton  laugh 
heartily  too,  and  then  blush  more.  And  so,  after  a 
chat  of  some  ten  minutes,  she  came  swimming  back 
with  a  very  merry  eye  and  a  malicious  smile. 

"  There,  I  told  you  so.     She'll  be  very  happy." 

"  It  took  you  a  hard  struggle  to  mnkc  her  very 
happy.' 

^'  I  didn't.     I  leave  you  to  do  that.     Come,  give  mo 


133 

your  arm,  and  take  me.  No  ;  not  that  way" — as 
Fairfax  turned  as  if  to  go  straight  across  the  room  to 
her.  "  Good  God — do  you  want  to  charge  the  girl, 
as  if  she  were  a  bullfinch.  She  can  do  that,  by-the- 
bye,  as  well  as  you  can,  they  say.  No,  come  along, 
quietly  this  way,  restrain  your  southern  ardor  and  make 
love  to  me  as  hard  as  you  can,  'till  we  get  round  the 
room  and  come  upon  pretty  Mary  unawares,  so  as  to 
give  her  a  chance  of  being  unconscious." 

It  was  done  as  she  desired,  and  as  they  began  to 
approach,  Mary  was  seized  by  a  strong  impulse  to  con- 
verse earnestly  with  the  portly  dowager ;  and  to  do  so 
leaned  forward  and  turned  round,  thereby  exhibiting 
a  very  lovely  flexure  of  the  neck  and  shoulders  to 
Fairfax  and  his  sparkling  companion,  and  was  of 
course  utterly  unconscious  of  their  vicinity,  'till  Lady 
Cheshire's  gloved  finger  was  pressed  upon  her  shoulder, 
when  she  started,  rose  from  her  seat  as  Lady  Ches 
took  her  hand,  and  looked  inquiringly  toward  Fairfax, 
once  more  blushing  a  little,  but  not  painfully. 

"  Mary,  my  dear,  let  me  make  you  know  Colonel 
Fairfax.  Colonel,  Miss  Mary  Merton,  the  Die  Vernon 
of  the  Quorndon." 

"Are  you  engaged  for  the  next  galloppe?'* 

"For  the  next — I  believe  not." 

"  And  will  you  dance  it  with  me  ? 

"Willingly." 

"There,  I  told  you  so.  Colonel,"  laughed  Lady 
Ches,  maliciously.  "  I  told  him  you  would  dance  with 
him  willingly  J  and  he  '  knew  that  you  would  rather 
not.*  There  now  I'll  leave  you  to  yourselves  ;  so  be 
as  agreeable  to  one  another  as  you  can — that  means, 
I  bequeath  to  you  my  parting  doom  of  silence  and 
stupidity.'" 

Her  words  were  not  fulfilled,  however  ;  for  though 
it  is  true  in  general,  that  such  an  injunction  laid  on 
tvio  recent  acquaintances  is  productive  of  embarrass- 


134        A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE. 

ment  and  gaucherie,  neither  of  the  persons  to  whom 
the  words  were  now  sportively  addressed  were  to  be 
so  put  to  silence;  and,  perhaps  to  conceal  her  own 
feelings,  it  was  Miss  Merton  who  spoke  first. 

"  Have  you  long  known  Lady  Cheshire,  Mr.  Fair- 
fax ?  What  a  beautiful  and  kind  person  she  is ;  don't 
you  think  so  ?" 

"  No,  and  yes.  Miss  Merton,  only  since  Sunday  eve- 
ning, when  I  first  had  the  honor  of  dining  with  her. 
Beautiful  she  is  exceedingly — more  beautiful,  save 
one,  than  any  I  have  ever  seen,  and  very  charming, 
and  I  do  not  doubt,  kind  too." 

"  Save  one.  Then  you  are  an  admirer  of  blue  eyes, 
and  prefer  Isabella.  She  is  lovely,  but  I  don't  agree 
with  you.  But  then  one's  likings  afi'ect  one's  admi- 
rings  so  strongly  that  I  may  be  biassed.  I  love  Lady 
Cheshire  dearly." 

"  And  ^ou  have  known  her  long." 

"  Almost  as  long  as  I  have  known  any  thing — ages 
before  she  was  Lady  Cheshire." 

"  The  idea  of  your  having  known  any  thing,  ages.'* 

"  Please,  Colonel  Fairfax,  don't  pay  me  any  com- 
pliments, I  detest  them." 

"  And  I — but  you  don't  call  that  a  compliment  ?  I 
never  say  any  thing  to  those  whom  I  respect  or  ad- 
mire, that  I  do  not  feel  from  my  heart." 

"  But  it  is  not  always  well  to  say  every  thing  that 
one  feels  from  his  heart  to  every  one,  or  at  all  sea- 
sons." 

"Is  it  not?     Why?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  do  you  always  do  it  ?" 

"  Too  often,  I'm  afraid^  if  you  disapprove.  We 
are  held  to  be  very  impetuous  and  impulsive  beings  in 
my  country." 

She  had  began  to  hold  up  her  finger  warningly, 
though  with  a  very  lightsome  smile,  as  he  uttered  his 


AND  A  BELLE.  135 

first  sentence  ;  but  as  she  heard  his  last  word,  she 
looked  surprised,  and  asked  : 

"  Your  country.  Why  ?  are  you  not  an  English- 
man ?" 

"  Nor  ever  was  in  England,  'till  within  the  last  two 
months." 

"  An  American  then  of  course,  though  I  never  met 
one  before ;  were  you  ever  in  Canada,  Colonel  Fair- 
fax, in  Montreal  or  Quebec?" 

"  The  last  autumn  before  I  sailed  for  France  I  was 
there ;  God  bless  me,  Miss  Merton,  it  must  be  so ; 
you  are  Charley  Morton's  sister,  of  the  71st  Lights." 

"  Only  his  sister.  Colonel ;  and  you  knew,  and — 
and  liked  him  ?" 

"  More  than  liked  him  ;  we  are  friends,  and  have 
corresponded  for  some  years  ;  how  curious  that  I 
should  meet  his  sister  here  ?" 

''  And  how  pleasant,"  said  she,  softly,  "  it  is  so 
much  pleasanter  to  owe  thanks  and  kindness  to  friends 
than  to  strangers." 

"  Much  pleasanter ;  but  you  owe  me  none  of  the 
first,  though  as  much  as  you  will  of  the  second." 

"Hush!  Don't,  please.  The  greatest  obligation" 
— she  said,  artlessly  and  innocently  laying  her  small 
hand  on  his  arm — "  think  if  I  had  fallen.  I  never 
would  have  danced  again." 

"A  strong  reason  why  I  should  be  thankful,"  said 
Fairfax  ;  "  but  won't  you  dance  now  ;  they  are  stand- 
ing up  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  and  she  stood  up,  and  took  his  arm. 
But,  at  this  moment,  Jardinier  came  up,  and  it  was 
evident  at  a  glance  that  he  had  been  dining  out,  and 
drinking  hard,  to  say  the  least.  He  walked  straight 
up  to  Mary  Merton,  drawing  on  his  kid  glove  as  he 
came,  with  an  air  of  dogged  insolence,  affecting  not  to 
recognize  Fairfax,  who  felt  Mary's  hand  tremble  on 
his  sleeve  at  his  approach. 


136         A   BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE. 

"  My  turn  now,  I  believe,  ain't  it,  Miss  Merton  ?" 
muttered  the  peer. 

"Your  turn  for  what,  my  Lord  ?"  she  answered  in 
a  low  voice,  turning  white  and  red  rapidly  in  succes- 
sion. 

"Engaged  to  me,  I  mean,  for  this  galloppe?" 

"  Certainly  not,  my  Lord,  for  this  or  any  other. 
You  have  not  even  asked  me  to  dance,  or  spoken  to 
me  this  evening." 

"  Short  memory,  I'm  afraid,"  replied  Jar dinier  with 
a  sneer,  and  an  insolent  glance  at  Fairfax.  "  Old 
promise  since  last  meeting ;  got  a  new  partner,  and 
short  memory,  hey?" 

Mary  turned  deadly  pale  for  one  moment,  and  felt 
that  she  was  on  the  point  of  fainting,  but  she  had  a 
resolute  will,  and  exerted  it  resolutely,  mastering  her 
fears  and  feelings.  But  ere  she  could  answer  him, 
she  heard  Fairfax  say  as  smoothly  and  serenely  as  if 
he  had  been  asking  the  lout  to  take  a  glass  of  wine 
with  him. 

"  Miss  Morton's  memory  is  not  so  short,  my  Lord 
Jardinier,  but  that  she  remembers  how  nearly  you 
knocked  her  doAvn  this  evening,  and  how  completely 
you  forgot  to  ask  if  you  had  hurt  her.  Come,  Miss 
Merton,  there  is  a  clear  space  now ;"  and,  passing 
his  arm  lightly  round  her  waist,  he  swung  her  off  into 
the  swift  maze,  leaving  the  peer  discomfitted  and  sav- 
age, gazing  like  Satan  upon  paradise. 

As  they  paused  and  began  to  talk,  he  suddenly  saw 
Matuschevitz's  laughing  face  opposite,  nodding  to 
them  both  from  the  other  side  the  circle,  with  an  arch 
look,  which  at  once  recalled  to  Fairfax  the  conversa- 
tion before  dinner. 

Mary  nodded,  and  beckoned  to  him  with  her  fan. 
**  He  is  a  friend  of  yours  I  know,"  she  said  half  apol- 
ogetically, "Lady   Cheshire  told  me  so.      How  odd 


AND  A  BELLE.  13T 

that  out  of  so  few  mutual  acquaintances,  we  should 
have  so  many  mutual  likings — " 

''  And  dislikings— " 

"Yes." 

"You  don't  read  Sallust,  Miss  Merton,  or  you 
would  know  what  that  wise  judge  of  humanity  says 
about  that." 

"  What  does  he  say  ?" 

"  '  In  short,  to  like  and  dislike  the  same  things,  that 
is  true — love\  he  w^as  about  to  add. 

"Nonsense,"  she  interrupted,  before  he  could  finish 
his  sentence. 

"  Upon  my  honor,  he  says  so." 

"But  you  don't  believe  him." 

"In  this  case — yes!" 

"Let  us  take  another  turn;"  and  away  they  spun, 
dancing  so  well  and  gracefully,  that  many  of  the  by- 
standers stood  in  their  places  enquiring  and  admiring. 

When  they  paused,  and  she  leaned  panting  on  his 
arm  for  breath,  Matuschevitz  was  waiting  for  them. 

"  Aha  !  Colonel.  Well  done  !  Did  I  not  tell  you 
so  ?  Aha  !  Miss  Mary,  I  foretold  his  fate  to  him,  in 
you,  and  you  see  he  has  found  it.  So  to  reward  me 
take  a  turn  with  me." 

She  looked  enquiringly  at  Fairfax,  he  nodded  and 
smiled  "  of  course." 

"  Then  volo7it{ers,"  and  away  she  went  with  the  gay 
diplomat ;  and  the  half  smitten  Virginian  had  an  op- 
portunity to  observe  how  exquisitely  and  modestly  she 
danced,  and  how  beautiful  was  her  every  movement. 
Just  as  she  was  coming  back  to  him,  Jardinier  came 
up  once  more  sneering  fiendishly.  "  Colonel  Fairfax, 
I  believe?" 

"  At  your  service,  my  Lord." 

"  I  think  you  were  rude  to  me,  sir." 

"  Do  you  thinJc  so,  my  Lord  ?  you  should  know  it, 
before  you  intrude  upon  a  gentleman." 


138         A  BALL  ROOM,  AND  A  BELLE. 

At  tills  instant  Matuschevitz  came  up  with  Mary 
Merton,  who  immediately  took  the  arm  of  her  partner. 
But  pertinacious  Jardinier  was  not  to  be  repulsed  ;  step- 
ping forward  again,  "  One  turn  with  me.  Miss  Merton, 
to  make  friends." 

"Pardon  me,  sir,  Miss  Merton  is  my  partner ;"  in- 
terrupted the  Virginian,  whose  hot  blood  was  up  by 
this  time. 

*'  But  I  presume  you  do  not  compel  the  lady's  in- 
clinations— " 

"  By  no  means,  my  Lord ;  if  they  are  with  you, 
you  may  have  them  volontiers.'' 

"Come  Miss  Merton.  Don't  you  hear,  he  has 
given  you  leave?" 

"  I  require  no  one's  permission  to  beg  you  to  leave 
me  at  once,  and  never  address  me  more.  Sir  Henry 
Merton  is  not  yet  too  infirm  to  protect  me  from  your 
Lordship's  insolence  ;  though  he  was  the  brother  in 
arms  of  your  Lordship's  father,  who  was,  I  have  heard 
him  say,  a  very  brave  and  honorable  sailor.  Come, 
Colonel  Fairfax,  one  more  turn  with  me  if  you  please, 
and  then  take  me  to  Papa." 

The  turn  ended ;  Mary  was  very  grave  and  silent. 
Fairfax  was  touched. 

"  Miss  Merton,  I  regret  much — I  trust  you  are  not 
•  —angry  with  me — hurt  I  mean — " 

"  Hush — no.  Oh,  no.  Hush  !  please  don't  speak 
— here  is  papa — don't  mention  Charley  to  him.  I'll — 
I'll  tell  you  when  we  meet  again.  Thanks,  Colonel 
Fairfax.  Papa  let  me  make  you  know  Colonel  Fair- 
fax.    He  has  been  very  good  natured  to  me." 

"  Happy  to  make  your  acquaintance.  Colonel  Fair- 
fax," said  the  blufi",  portly,  gray-haired  sailor,  stretch- 
ing out  his  hand.  "Almost  know  you  already, 
Colonel.  The  duke,  and  Magher,  and  Goodricke, 
have  been  telling  me  all  about  you,  and  your  riding. 
Well,  Mary,  have  you  got  your  shawl  ?     So  Colonel, 


AND  A  BELLE.  139 

IS  tbe  hounds  draw  my  coverts  to-morrow  to  throw  off, 
*f  you'll  come  and  breakfast  with  us,  you'll  meet  some 
old  friends  at  Merton  Hall,  and  two  new  ones,  hey, 
Mary  ?  And  you  shall  see  my  little  girl  ride  too.  She 
can  take  a  rasper  in  her  stride  with  the  best  of  them, 
I  mean  her  chesnut  mare  can.'  Will  you  come, 
Colonel?" 

He  looked  at  Mary's  eyes,  and  Mary's  eyes  said, 
yes.  So  he  said  "yes"  too,  on  the  strength  of  it; 
shook  hands  with  the  old  admiral,  and  on  the  strength 
of  that  shook  hands  with  Mary  too.  And  so  the  ball 
ended. 


CHAPTER  YIIL 

A  BREAKFAST,  AND — BROKEN  BONES. 

It  falls  not  within  mj  department  to  describe  the 
thoughts  of  people — whereas  I  am  neither  Judge  Ed- 
monds, nor  Mesdames  Fish  and  Eox,  nor  myself  a 
medium,  nor  the  owner  of  a  medium  through  whom  to 
converse  with  Benjamin  Franklin,  or  Beelzebub,  or 
any  other  of  the  omniscients — I  shall  not  therefore 
attempt  to  look  through  the  windows  of  his  bosom  into 
the  secrets  of  Colonel  Fairfax's  heart ;  but  as  I  was 
present  at  Melton  Mowbray  in  those  days,  and  myself 
a  follower  of  the  Quorndon,  and  moreover  Percy's  sole 
confidant  in  this  matter,  I  can  tell  you,  fair  reader, 
what  he  said  and  did,  and  from  that  I  doubt  not  you 
will  be  able  to  form,  if  you  desire  to  do  so,  some  idea 
of  his  thoughts  also — for  although  to  many  men  lan- 
guage is  given  to  conceal  and  acts  to  contradict  their 
thoughts,  it  was  not  so  with  Fairfax. 

First,  then,  after  handing  Mary  Merton  into  her 
carriage,  he  wrapped  his  cloak  around  him,  lighted 
his  cigar,  and  walked  homeward  without  returning  in- 
to the  ball  room,  or  giWng  any  hint  to  the  count  of 
his  proceedings.  Secondly  as  soon  as  he  got  home  he 
sent  for  his  groom,  ordered  "  Thunderbolt"  to  be  sent 
as  his  first,  and  the  strawberry  roan  mare  by  Sher- 
wood out  of  Emma  for  his  second  horse,  to  Merton 
hall-door  at  half-past  eleven,  and  "  Crazy  Jane"  to  be 
at  his  own  door  at  half-past  nine — for  he  had  ascer- 
tained that  Merton  was  some  twelve  miles  distant — in 
the  capacity  of  covert-hack.  Thirdly,  he  went  to  bed. 
So  that  when  Matuschevitz  came  home,  having  dis- 
(140) 


AND— BROKEN  BONES.  141 

tinctlj  heard  the  invitation  to  breakfast  given  and  ac- 
cepted, he  perfectly  understood  what  was  passing  in 
the  mind  of  the  Virginian,  and  merely  nodding  his 
head  knowingly,  said  to  himself,  "  Hardly  fair,  master 
Virginian,  hardly  fair ;  but  in  love  and  war — in  love 
and  war.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  so  it  goes  and  has  gone  in 
all  ages.  Droll  enough  too !  that  I  should  have  fore- 
seen it  all.  Droll  enough !  but  it's  sure  to  come  off 
if  he  don't  break  Jardinier's  neck,  which  would  be  a 
public  benefit  to  all  the  world  but  himself  and  the 
peer.  Well ;  I'm  glad  I  gave  Beaufort  a  hint  of  what 
was  in  the  wind.  If  any  one  can  bring  that  cub  to 
reason  it  is  he.  And  as  for  you,  Master  Fairfax,  since 
you  are  on  the  secret  line  I  won't  see  any  thing,  or 
hear  any  thing,  or  think  any  thing,  or  do  any  thing, 
'till  you  tell  me,  and  then — I'll  be  deuced  surprised, 
and — and — help  you  I  suppose  any  way  I  can,"  and 
therewith  he  lighted  a  flat  candle,  swallowed  a  tumbler 
of  curagoa  and  soda,  and  went  to  bed  heart-easy. 

The  next  morning,  occurrence  most  unusual,  Fair- 
fax was  afoot  before  his  servant  brought  in  his  hot 
water,  and  was  down  in  the  breakfast  room  ere  Matus- 
chevitz  had  aroused  himself  from  his  first  slumbers, 
left  a  note  apologising  for  his  absence  and  explaining 
it,  and  was  in  his  saddle  at  the  minute.  A  few  mi- 
nutes spent  in  accurately  learning  his  way,  off  he  went 
at  "  Crazy  Jane's"  long  loping  canter,  thinking  to 
be  above  an  hour  on  his  way,  but  time  and  tide,  though 
they  wait  for  no  man,  are  at  times  devoured  by  the 
eagerness  of  his  will,  and  so  it  was  that  morning  with 
the  bold  Percy  Fairfax.  The  village  clocks  were 
barely  striking  ten  as  he  cantered  through  the  village 
of  Merton  in  the  vale,  and  pulled  up  at  the  neat  lodge 
gates  of  Merton  Park,  Avith  its  long  avenues  of  leaf- 
less elms  casting  long  shadows  over  the  trim  green- 
sward, never  sere  in  merry  England,  and  the  old  Eliz- 


142 

abethan  hall,  ivj-mantled  and  diamon(?-paned,  at  the 
end  of  the  long  perspective. 

Then  for  the  first  time  it  occurred  to  his  mind, 
■whether  he  were  not  perchance  too  earljy  for  with  his 
sagacity  of  American  woodcraft  he  saw  at  a  glance 
that  no  hoof  track  had  as  yet  broken  the  humid  sod. 
Then  he  half  repented,  and  half  drew  in  his  bridle. 
But  the  next  moment,  his  own  unconfessed  and  un- 
shaped  half-purpose  dimly  limning  itself  on  his  fancy, 
rather  than  on  his  mind,  he  threw  the  gate  open,  hum- 
ming to  himself  the  words  of  gallant  Montrose — 

For  sure  he  either  fears  too  much, 

Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
"Who  would  not  put  it  to  the  touch 

To  win  or  lose  it  all ; 

and  without  debating  the  matter  any  further,  perhaps 
without  wishing  to  deba^je,  rode  directly  up  to  the 
Hall-door. 

It  stood  open  with  a  natty  groom  and  a  fat  butler 
standing  on  the  steps,  the  former  of  whom  sprang  to 
his  stirrup,  while  the  other  bowed  low,  saying  in  a 
voice  of  quiet  aflfirmation  rather  than  enquiry,  "  Colo- 
nel Fairfax,  sir." 

"Just  so.     Is  Sir  Henry  at  home?'* 

"  Sir  Henry  has  gone  down  to  the  home  farm,  sir ; 
he  will  be  home  in  half  an  hour.  Miss  Mary  is  in  the 
library,  sir,  if  you  please  to  walk  this  way." 

Now  Fairfax  did  please  to  walk  that  way,  and  was 
pleased  also  that  Sir  Henry  was  without  and  Miss 
Mary  within ;  so  he  made  no  fuss  about  it,  but  did 
just  as  he  was  bid. 

The  library  door  was  thrown  open,  and  a  very  pretty 
picture  lay  before  him.  It  was  one  of  those  queer 
old-fashioned  rooms,  full  of  odd  corners  and  nooks,  all 
filled  with  some  appropriate  piece  of  furniture,  harmo- 
nious, but  not  symmetrical ;  here  an  old  oaken  prie  dieu 


A  BREAKFAST,  AND — BROKEN  BONES.     143 

of  the  Tudors,  then  a  black  walnut  clock  of  the  Stu- 
arts, in  that  niche  a  full  tilting  suit  of  the  Plantage- 
nets,  in  that  the  baginet  and  corslet,  petronel  and 
broadsword  of  the  commonwealth,  and  covering  all  the 
walls,  where  they  were  not  pierced  by  the  oriel  win- 
dows, or  the  low-arched  chimney  in  which  a  pile  of 
oak-wood  was  blazing,  were  massive  Gothic  book- 
cases of  oak,  curtained  with  green  damask.  At  a 
centre-table  covered  with  writing  implements,  portfo- 
lios, papeteries,  and  other  articles  more  purely  femi- 
nine, sat  the  presiding  genius  of  the  place,  holding  a 
book  in  her  hand,  which  I  think  she  was  not  reading 
very  attentively. 

The  purplish  lustre  through  the  stained  glass  of  the 
oriel  window  fell  like  a  glory  over  her  light,  golden 
hair,  now  braided  closely  round  her  classical  head,  and 
over  her  soft  and  pensive  face,  to  which  the  decided 
black  brows,  and  long  jetty  lashes,  now  relieved  by 
her  transparent  cheek,  lent  so  peculiar  a  character. 
She  was  so  busily  engaged  either  by  her  book  or  by 
her  thoughts,  that  she  did  not  hear  the  opening  of  the 
door  until  the  butler  announced,  "  Colonel  Fairfax." 

Then  she  rose  suddenly,  but  without  any  flutter,  and 
came  forwa-rd  to  meet  him.  "How  do  you  do,  Colo- 
nel Fairfax ;  Papa,  though  he  expected  you  early,  was 
obliged  to  go  down  with  the  bailiff  to  the  home  farm  on 
some  sudden  business,  and  left  me  to  receive  you.  So 
here  I  am  equipped  for  the  field  already." 

Beautiful  as  he  had  thought  her  last  night,  she  was 
lovelier  still  this  morning,  from  the  very  contrast  af- 
forded by  the  serene  and  innocent  style  of  her  features 
impressed  with  a  strong  tinge  of  romantic  fancy,  and 
the  huntress'  garb,  which  on  any  form,  less  intrinsi- 
cally womanly,  might  have  been  deemed  too  much  a 
la  Die  Vernon.  A  scarlet  riding  habit,  fitting  close  to 
her  exquisitely  moulded  bust  and  shoulders,  and  cling- 
ing as  if  it  had  been  a  part  of  it  to  her  rounded  waist, 


144 

swelled  evenly  downward,  without  any  plaiting  or 
sharp  division  between  the  skirt  and  corsage,  into  a 
fall  of  massive  draperies,  perfectly  concealing  yet  as 
perfectly  suggesting  the  contour  of  her  tall,  lythe  and 
rounded  person.  The  tip  of  a  brightly-polished  Wel- 
lington boot,  with  a  bright  silver  spur,  glanced  from 
beneath  the  hem,  which  she  lifted  a  little  with  her  left 
hand,  as  she  stepped  forward  to  welcome  her  father's 
guest,  extending  her  right  to  greet  him.  A  low- 
crowned  broad-leafed  hat,  with  a  short  black  veil 
scarcely  descending  to  the  chin,  lay  on  the  table  with 
a  pair  of  white  doe-skin  gauntlets  and  a  heavy  straight 
silver-mounted  jockey  whip  beside  it. 

So  grave  and  even  melancholy  was  her  usually  bril- 
liant face,  that  the  idea  occurred  to  Fairfax,  as  he  took 
the  fair  hand  in  his  own,  and  bowed  over  it  with  some- 
thing of  the  grace  of  the  ancient  regime,  that  La  Pen- 
seroso  was  before  him  masking  in  the  character  of  L' 
Allegro,  or  that  the  Christian  Saint,  Cecilia,  had  donned 
the  heathenish  garb  of  the  huntress  Diana. 

A  feeling,  the  like  of  Avhich  he  had  certainly  never 
felt  before,  and  which  he  could  not  explain  to  himself, 
came  over  him  ;  and  came  over  him  too  in  some  sort 
unpleasantly  ;  for  it  was  a  sentiment  of  something 
nearly  akin  to  reverence,  and  he  was  one  who,  if  he 
reverenced  at  all,  chose  to  reverence  according  to 
what  it  pleased  him  to  call  the  dictates  of  reason,  not 
of  impulse.  The  worst  features  of  his  character,  his 
pride,  which  was  cold,  and  his  obstinacy,  which  was 
perdurate,  were  aroused  to  resist  what  he  chose  to 
consider  his  weakness,  and  he  listened  to  these  ill- 
counsellors,  and  did  ill. 

*' To  speak  frankly,"  she  added,  almost  without  a 
pause,  ^'  as  I  think  best  to  do,  I  am  not  altogether 
sorry  that  Papa  is  not  at  home,  for  I  want  to  speak  a 
few  words  alone  with  you,  and  did  not  know  when  I 


A  BREAKFAST,  AND — BROKEN  BONES.  145 

should  have  an  opportunity,  but  I'm   afraid  you  will 
think  me  a  very  strange  girl — " 

"  A  very  charming  one." 

She  did  not  draw  herself  up,  nor  blush  now,  nor 
snatch  away  her  hand,  which  had  rested  in  his  one  se- 
cond, unconscious  of  evil,  but  she  withdrew  it  quietly 
and  said  in  a  firm  voice,  with  some  melancholy,  but 
no  anger  in  her  large  soft  eyes, 

*'  Why  did  you  say  that  ?  Oh  !  I  wish  you  had  not 
said  that.  You  do  not  understand  me.  You  treat  me 
like  any  merry,  bold  girl — larking  girl,  I  suppose 
you'd  call  it — when  I  would  have  met  you  as  a  friend, 
because  you  said  you  were  my  brother's  friend.  Nay, 
do  not  interrupt  me,  for  I  don't  want  apologies,  they 
are  just  as  empty  as  compliments,  besides  there  is 
nothing  to  apologise  for,  since  I  know  you  did  not 
wish  to  offend  me,  and  I  am  not  offended.  You  do 
not  understand  me,  and  it  does  not  matter,  whether 
you  do  or  no — that's  all,  and  there's  no  more  to  be 
said  about  it.  Still  I  want  to  speak  to  you.  It  is 
about  my  brother.  I  asked  you  not  to  mention  him 
before  Papa,  and  I  was  going  to  tell  you  the  reason. 
I  choose  to  tell  you  that  reason  now,  since  what  I  said 
last  night,  if  unexplained,  would  naturally  lead  you  to 
imagine  something  dishonorable  which  should  estrange 
such  a  father  from  a  son — " 

But  here  Fairfax,  who  had  listened  thus  far  atten^ 
tive  and  a  little  surprised,  but  unabashed,  for  his  evil 
pride  was  still  in  the  ascendant,  interrupted  with  so 
brief  and  convincing  a  disclaimer  of  the  possibility  of 
such  an  idea  crossing  his  mind  in  reference  to  Charley, 
and  spoke  with  such  earnest  warmth,  and  with  such 
indignant  truth  flashing  from  his  clear  eyes,  of  that 
beloved  brother,  that  the  sister's  heart  warmed  some- 
thing to  the  speaker.  Still  her  woman's  heart  was 
wounded,  and  she  spoke  sadly — 
178 


146  A  BREAKFAST,  AND — BROKEN  B0^  ** 

"  It  is  well  so.     You  understand  lilm,  still  il  it  \  .<r 
per  that  you  should  hear  me  out.     Will  you  listen  i'* 

"  Miss  Merton,  can  you  doubt  it  ?  Pray  go  on.  You 
will  know  me  better  one  day." 

"  There  is  little  to  tell.  Papa,  though  the  best  of 
men  and  kindest  of  fathers,  loving  us  both — we  are 
liis  only  two — with  his  whole  heart,  and  desiring  to 
render  us  happy  Avith  all  his  soul,  believes  that  we  can- 
not possibly  be  happy  except  by  following  his  advice 
— commands  I  should  say — for  his  counsel  is  ever  a 
command,  and  not  to  take  it  is  to  be  a  disobedient 
child,  a  rebel  ! — -and  if  there  is  one  thing  on  earth  he 
hates,  it  is  a  rebel.  He  hates  a  rebel  as  much  at  least 
as  he  loves  his  king,  and  him  he  loves  second  only  to 
his  God.  Charley  is,  as  I  conclude  you  know,  quick 
when  aroused,  reluctant  under  injury,  and  resolute 
under  threats.  Papa,  it  seems,  had  set  his  mind  on  a 
match  for  Charles,  unsuspected  by  either  him  or  me, 
with  a  very  nice  girl,  a  cousin  of  ours,  much  too 
nearly  a  sister  in  feeling  ever  to  be  a  wife.  Charley 
fell  in  love  with  the  dearest  little  girl  that  ever  lived, 
won  her  consent,  and  came  in  rapture  to  ask  Papa's, 
when  to  his  wonder,  even  more  than  his  dismay,  he 
was  met  by  a  command  instantly  to  marry  a  woman 
he  had  never  thought  about  more  than  he  had  about 
me,  and  who — he  had  every  reason  to  believe — herself 
loved  another.  All  this  he  pleaded,  and  much  more, 
and  last  that  his  honor  was  committed — and  to  this  it 
was  replied  that  there  was  no  honor  above  that  of 
obeying  orders  ;  and  the  order  followed  that  he  should 
instantly  marry  her  whom  he  did  not  love  and  who 
does  not  love  him,  on  pain  of  being  cut  off  with  our 
mother's  fortune,  which  was  happily  settled  upon  him, 
the  family  estate  being  settled  on  me.  If  Charley- 
would  have  waited  but  a  while,  as  I  advised  and  im- 
plored him,  if  he  would  have  plainly  asked  our  cousin 
to  become  his  bride,  he  Avould  have  been  as  plainly  re* 


A  BREAKFAST,  AND — BROKEN  BONES.  147 

fused,  for  within  a  fortnight  Emily  married  her  lover, 
a  young  nobleman  of  great  worth  and  talents,  and  on 
her  would  all  my  father's  wrath  have  fallen.  He 
would  not.  He  answered  my  father,'at  the  end  of  three 
days  which  had  been  allowed  him  for  his  decision,  as 
he  should  not  have  answered  him,  and  on  the  third 
day  was  married  at  Gretna  Green  to  the  choice  of  his 
heart.  No  sooner  did  papa  hear  it  than  his  word  was 
kept,  as  we  all  knew  it  would  be.  Charley  succeeded 
to  my  mother's  fortune  of  a  few  annual  hundreds,  and 
I  am  the  unhappy  heiress  of  more  than  as  many  thou- 
sands, but  that  inheritance  I  never  will  receive.  Sir 
Henry  has  never  once  even  named  his  name  since  he 
accepted  a  staff  appointment  in  Canada,  and  sailed 
thither  with  his  charming  and  excellent  young  wife, 
and  it  only  excites  his  anger  to  hear  him  named,  above 
all,  with  praise.  I  knew  that  you  would  naturally 
name  him,  when  to  do  so  would  have  been  injurious  to 
him,  perhaps  ruinous,  and  painful  to  yourself.  It  was 
this  which  made  me  wish  to  speak  with  you  alone  for 
five  minutes ;  and,  therefore,  I  told  you  frankly  that 
I  was  glad  papa  was  not  at  home  when  you  came  in. 
I  thank  you.  Colonel  Fairfax,  that  you  have  taught 
me  that  it  is  unwise,  if  not  unwomanly,  in  a  young 
woman  to  speak  frankly,  or  I  should  say  bluntly,  to  a 
gentleman." 

There  was  something  in  her  manner,  in  her  beauti- 
ful calm  dignity,  sincere  truthfulness,  and  severe 
straightforwardness  of  purpose  and  deed  which  struck 
Fairfax  very  forcibly.  Here  was  a  character  such  as 
he  had  never  met  before — an  intellect  of  the  firmest, 
a  disposition  of  the  softest.  A  mind  so  clear,  a  will 
so  purely  strong,  united  with  a  soul  so  gentle,  and  a 
form  so  lovely,  he  had  never  before  encountered — 
never  dreamed  of.  He  knew,  too,  that  if  he  had  not 
really  wronged  her,  or  misinterpreted  her  motives  in 
his  own  mind,  he  had  given  her  deep  cause  to  believe 


148     A  BKEAKFAST,  AND — BROKEN  BONES. 

that  he  had  so.  It  was  not  easy  to  make  her  perceive 
this,  yet  he  knew  that  he  could  make  her  feel  it. 
Again  he  saw  that  it  was  not  quite  the  time  to  attempt 
it,  and  this,  with  a  lingering  of  pride,  and  an  unwill- 
ingness to  humble  himself,  perhaps  in  Vain,  so  far  as 
he  ought  to  humble  himself,  led  him  to  answer  her — 

"You  do  not  wish,  I  suppose,  to  hear  the  explana- 
tion, which,  upon  my  honor  !  I  believe  will  satisfy  you, 
that—" 

"  Pardon  me,  for  interrupting  you,"  she  said  sweetly, 
"  but  I  had  rather  not.  I  will  not  deny  that  you  have 
wounded  me  in  a  manner  I  did  not  expect  from  you. 
No  explanations  can  remove  the  sense  of  humiliation 
which  I  feel ;  and  we  had  better  remain  as  we  are." 

"It  is  not  you  that  I  would  humiliate;  but,"  he 
proceeded  bitterly,  "you  do  not  wish  me  to  speak — 
and  I  am  silent.  You  say,  ^  we  had  better  remain  as 
we  are' — I  hope  that  is  '  friends. '  " 

"  All  who  are  friends  to  my  brother  are  my  friends," 
she  answered,  with  a  smile  which  was  as  cold  as  that 
of  an  April  morning,  when  an  early  frost  has  checked 
the  growing  verdure  of  the  spring.  "  This  has  been 
an  unpleasant  topic,  when  I  meant  it  should  have  been 
agreeable — let  us  say  no  more  about  it.  And  hark  ! 
here  comes  papa." 

Perhaps  even  as  Mary  Merton  spoke  these  words 
she  half  repented — perhaps  she  felt  that  the  explana- 
tion, the  apology,  for  such  it  must  have  been,  of  so 
proud  a  man  once  rejected  never  would  be  renewed  or 
tendered  any  more — perhaps  she  reflected  that  to  be 
grieved  and  refuse  consolation,  to  be  olFended  and  re- 
ject reparation  is  neither  wise  nor  just — perhaps  she 
half  admitted  that  the  explanation  might  have  made 
her  happier  not  only  than  she  was,  but  than  she  had 
ever  been  before.  She  knew  that  she  felt  sadder  now 
than  she  had  ever  felt,  and  was  half  angry  at  herself, 
for  being  sad  she  knew  not  wherefore. 


AND — BROKEN  BONES.  149 

The  conversation  was,  however,  summarily  dis- 
posed of,  for  Sir  Henry  came  into  the  room  booted 
and  spurred,  but  equipped  in  morning  jacket  as  fresh 
from  his  farming  avocations,  which  were  his  hobby, 
and,  as  every  one  very  well  knew,  a  pretty  expensive 
one  too,  and  his  hearty  and  somewhat  prolix  greet- 
ings set  aside  every  thing  else  for  the  moment,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  after  the  Duke  of  Beaufort,  Sir  Harry 
Goodricke,  Magher  and  Lord  Alvanley  were  severally 
announced,  and  then,  ^'  Breakfast  is  on  the  table,  if 
you  please,  ma'am,"  from  the  stately  butler,  ushered 
the  fair  company  to  a  handsome  breakfast-room  over- 
looking the  park  from  a  pretty  bay  window,  and  to 
that  pleasantest,  most  cheerful  and  most  degage  of 
meals,  an  English  breakfast. 

Around  the  hospitable  board  a  merry  half-hour  was 
soon  spent,  but  spent  less  merrily  by  Fairfax  than  any 
other  person,  perhaps,  of  the  party ;  for  just  at  the 
moment  when  he  was  beginning  to  be  sensible  that  she 
was  something  much  more  than  a  charming  girl,  hun- 
dreds of  whom  he  had  met  already  in  all  quarters  of 
the  world,  from  the  AVhite  Sulphur  Springs  and  Sara- 
toga, to  the  Bains  de  Mont  d'  Or  in  Auvergne,  to 
Schlangenbad  and  Baden,  to  Almacks  and  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain,  and  something  very  nearly  ap- 
proaching to  his  ideal  of  a  very  woman,  he  felt  that  he 
had  by  an  idle  word  deeply  wounded  her  in  the  ten- 
derest  point  of  a  truly  feminine  nature,  and  he  began 
to  feel  that  what  he  had  done  was  irreparable,  even  if 
he  could  subdue  his  pride  into  even  a  new  advance. 

While  he  was  thus  torturing  himself  to  no  purpose, 
and  she  was  doing  the  honors  of  her  table  charmingly, 
chatting  playfully  with  the  Duke,  of  whom  she  was  an 
especial  pet,  and  keeping  up  the  ball  of  conversation 
^with  all  the  world  and  the  rest  of  mankind,'  seeing 
all  the  while  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eyes  the  discom- 
posure of  the  Colonel,  and  beginning  very  shrewdly  to 


150  A  BREAKFAST,  AND— BROKEN  BONES. 

suspect — for  what  woman  ever  excited  the  smallest 
spark  of  passion  in  a  male  breast  without  being  con- 
scious of  it — that  the  handsome  Virginian  really  did 
think  her  a  charming  girl,  a  distant  rate  and  the  clang- 
ing report  of  a  hunting  whip  turned  the  current  of  all 
thoughts  and  eyes  to  the  park. 

And  lo  !  across  the  green,  well-kept  lawn,  the  beau- 
tiful dog-pack,  twenty  couple  of  glossy,  many-colored 
beauties,  with  great  bland  fawning  eyes,  and  high- 
waving  feathery  sterns,  came  trotting  along  as  steadily 
as  veterans,  at  the  heels  of  ''  Clinker,"  bestridden  by 
Jack  Stevens,  and  kept  in  order  by  the  voices  and 
whips  of  three  or  four  light  scarlet-frocked  whippers-in. 

The  squeal  of  the  squire  was  next  heard,  and  in  he 
came,  full  of  fun  as  usual,  clamoring  for  his  cup  of 
coifee  and  thimblefull  of  curagoa,  with  half  the  hunt  at 
his  heels  ;  and  the  quiet  breakfast-room  was  converted 
into  a  levee  of  gay  scarlet  jackets  and  white  leathers, 
worn  by  cavaliers  as  gallant  and  as  daring  as  ever 
rode  the  ring  before  the  hapless  Mary,  or  her  hard 
rival,  lion-hearted  Bess  of  England. 

A  few  minutes  more;  and  the  squire  looked  at  his 
watch,  and  asked  the  admiral  which  of  his  coverts  was 
likeliest  to  hold  a  fox. 

"  The  osier  holt  by  the  Arningsby  brook-side.  My 
keeper  tells  me  a  large  dog-fox  has  haunted  it  all  the 
season." 

"  The  osier  holt  be  it  then,"  said  the  squire.  "  Ma- 
gher,  as  you're  going  to  make  a  start,  I  see,  be  good 
enough  to  tell  Stevens  to  get  forward  to  the  osier  holt. 
Now,  gentlemen,  boot  and  saddle  is  the  word.  I  hope 
the  chestnut  mare  is  in  trim.  Miss  Mary,  for  the  flats 
will  be  hough  deep  to-day,  if  pug  heads  toward 
Loughborough  and  the  river,  which  with  this  south- 
easter he  is  like  enough  to  do." 

"Look  at  her,  squire,"  she  answered,  pointing  with 
her  whip  to  the  fine,  highly  groomed  chestnut  mare, 


A  CREAKFAST,  AND — BROKEN  BONES.  151 

wMcli  a  smart  boy  of  some  five  stone  odd  was  leading 
up  and  down  before  the  steps  of  the  terrace.  "  Don't 
you  think  she  has  got  the  go  in  her  to-day?" 

"I  think  you  have,  at  all  events,"  said  the  squire, 
laughing.  ^'  Only  don't  go  too  far,  that's  a  good  las- 
sie. Come,  lads,  to  the  pigskin — to  the  pigskin,  and 
you,  who  have  got  to  find  your  hunters,  had  better 
gallop,  I  can  tell  you,  for  Jack  Stevens  waits  for  nei- 
ther man  nor  money,  and  I  shall  throw  ofi"  without 
stopping  a  minute,  even  for  you,  Miss  Mary.  So  make 
your  bows  like  me,  and  go  aivay^  like  the  fox  we  hope 
for.'; 

His  words  were  obeyed  to  the  letter,  all  the  party, 
oldsters  and  youngsters  alike,  bowing  or  shaking  hands, 
and  following  their  favorite,  Osbaldiston.  But  as  Fair- 
fax, like  young  Edwin  in  the  ballad,  "  bowed  among  the 
rest,"  with  a  very  blank  and  disconsolate  aspect  indeed, 
Mary's  heart  relented,  and  she  addressed  him  with  a 
smile,  ''  Colonel  Fairfax,  if  you  can  find  your  way  to 
the  library,  and  will  bring  me  my  hat,  gloves  and  rid- 
ing whip  which  I  left  on  the  table,  you  will  oblige  me, 
and  you  shall  be  my  cavalier  en  guerdon^  unless  you 
are  in  too  great  haste  to  be  off  with  these  mighty 
hunters." 

The  grateful  glance  of  the  Virginian  aroused  her  as 
he  turned  away  to  execute  her  bidding,  and  when  he 
returned  she  was  alone  with  the  admiral,  who  was  fuss- 
ing about  his  sandwich-box  and  his  flask  of  sherry, 
without  which  he  would  about  as  soon  have  gone 
into  the  field,  as  he  would  into  action  without  ports 
open  and  matches  lighted. 

"  Thanks,"  and  she  hatted,  veiled  and  gloved  herself 
before  the  mantle  glass,  without  a  shadow  of  coquetry 
or  affectation,  and  then,  taking  his  arm,  said  gently, 
"  and  now  if  you  will  help  me  to  mount  Bonnibelle, 
we  shall  be  ready  by  the  time  Papa  has  got  his 
sandwiches  and  sherry.      There  is  no  hurry  at  all, 


152     A  BREAKFAST,  AND — BROKEN  BONES. 

for  the  squire  told  me  he  should  draw  the  Long 
Rearsby  wood  before  the  osier  holt,  and  there  is  no 
more  chance  of  a  find  in  it,  than  in  this  breakfast- 
room." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Fairfax  ;  and  the  words,  little 
as  they  said  in  themselves,  spoke  volumes  in  the  deep, 
low,  modulated  tones  which  contained  them. 

"  Ah  Bonnibelle,  pretty  Bonnibelle,"  she  said,  kiss- 
ing the  white  star  on  the  beautiful  mare's  forehead, 
while  she  laid  down  her  ears,  and  arched  her  neck, 
and  whinnied  at  the  well-known  voice  and  expected  ca- 
ress. "Now,  colonel,"  and,  raising  the  long  skirt  of 
her  habit  with  her  left  hand,  she  laid  her  right  on  the 
pummel,  and  extended  the  tip  of  the  prettiest  little 
foot  in  the  world  to  the  gloved  hand  of  Fairfax. 

In  a  moment,  and  without  an  effort,  she  was  on  Bon- 
nibelle's  back,  the  picture  of  grace  and  elasticity  at 
rest,  settling  her  ruffled  draperies,  arranging  her 
white  gauntlets,  shredding  her  reins,  flattering  her 
mare's  neck  with  soft  caresses,  the  fairest  and  most  fe- 
minine of  amazons.  Fairfax  spoke  not,  but  gazed, 
and — I  suppose — thought. 

Sir  Harry's  robust  voice  came  through  the  open 
door,  "  Mary,  Mary,  this  tiresome  devil  of  a  fellow, 
Battersby,  is  at  me  again,  about  the  new  Alderney 
cows,  and  I  cannot  come  for  half  an  hour.  Ride  on 
with  Fairfax,  and  I'll  overtake  you  before  they  find." 

Their  eyes  met  mutually,  spontaneously — neither 
knew,  neither  meant  to  convey  any  thing  by  that  sud- 
den glance ;  yet  as  the  eyes  met  the  same  thrill  shot 
through  each,  a  heart  spasm,  instantly  understood — 
instantly  confessed. 

Those,  who  have  felt  what  I  mean,  will  understand 
me,  for  to  them  I  speak  *  ^coraj^ra  ^wstoisi ;  to  those 
who  have  not,  I  speak  Hebrew      To  one  it  said,  "  she 

*  Literally,  "  tvords  speahing  (intelligible)  to  the  wise." — Pindar. 


AND — BROKEN  BONES.  153 

likes  me — to  the  otlicr,  ''he  loves  me."  For  the  wo- 
man's perception  is  ever  the  first,  and  she  jumps 
quickest  to  the  ultimate  conclusion. 

Neither  said,  this  time,  ''I  am  not  sorry  papa  is 
not  coming,"  but  her  eyes  spoke  it  very  audibly  to 
him,  and  his  replied  no  less  palpably  to  her  that  she 
was  something  more  than  "  a  very  charming  girl." 

He  saw  her  on  a  nearer  view, 

A  spirit  yet  a  woman  too  ; 

Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 

And  steps  of  virgin  liberty ; 

A  countenance  in  which  did  meet 

Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet ; 

A  creature  not  too  bright  and  good, 

For  human  nature's  daily  food 

For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 

For  praise,  blame,  kisses,  tears,  and  smiles  ; 

and  then  both  smiled  as  they  smiled  last  night,  only, 
as  the  Virginia  nigger  said,  more  so. 

"We  are  friends,"  he  whispered. 

"When  I  do  things,  I  never  do  them  by  halves,*' 
and  she  cast  down  her  eyes. 

"  And  you  will  hear  me  now  ?" 

"  I'd  rather  not,  but  if  you  wish  it — " 

"I'd  rather." 

"Then  I  will." 

And  did  he  not  vault  to  the  back  of  Thunderbolt, 
merely  gathering  the  reins  in  his  right,  scarcely 
poised  on  the  thin  mane  and  high  withers,  in  a  fashion 
that  astonished  that  steadiest  and  most  sober-minded 
of  veteran  hunters,  to  the  very  extremity  of  horse  ca- 
pacity to  be  astonished.  A  fact  clearly  proved  by  the 
execution  of  a  curious  caracole  by  that  serious  qua- 
druped, the  first  probably  since  the  days  of  his  foal- 
caperings  by  his  mother's  side. 

The  whole  made  Mary  laugh,  a  merry,  silver  laugh 
which  sealed  the  treaty — made  the  West-Riding  York 


154     A  BREAKFAST,  AND — BROKEN  BONES. 

feliire  groom — who  had  been  thrown  into  the  bargain 
with  "Thunderbolt,"  because  he  had  looked  after  him 
BO  long,  and  knew  his  ways — stare  with  eyes  as  big  as 
saucers,  while  he  pulled  his  forelock,  and  mutter,  as 
the  handsome  pair  rode  away,  "  God  !  an  if  t'  Yankee 
raide  that  gait  he'll  be  aif,  afore  at  they  faind."  A 
prophecy  which  I  do  not  find  to  have  been  fulfilled  ac- 
cording to  my  notes  of  the  events,  as  they  occurred, 
made  on  the  spot. 

Meanwhile,  one  thing  is  certain,  that  they  rode  away 
very  lover-like ;  there  is  nothing  on  earth  like  a  little 
quarrel,  a  passing  cloud  over  the  first  sunshine  of  May 
morning,  and  a  little  reconciliation,  for  ripening  the 
dawn  of  fancy  into  love. 

And  yet,  though  either  party  confessed  readily  that 
the  other  was  desperately  in  love,  neither  was  in  the 
slightest  degree  prepared  to  confess  the  same  in  re- 
gard to  self.  Oh  !  self !  and  yet  when  such  things  be 
at  all,  for  the  most  part — aye  !  ninety  and  nine  times 
out  of  the  hundred — they  be  simultaneous. 

On  they  rode,  along  the  lanes,  the  green  winding 
lanes  of  England,  green  still,  even  in  mid- winter,  with 
rathe  grass,  and  furze,  and  hollybrakes,  and  here  and 
there  a  misletoe  bough  upon  the  giant  limb  of  some 
gnarled  oak,  as  leisurely  as  if  the  Quorndon  had  not 
heard  the  squire's  "Eleu!  Eleu  !  in.  Eleu  in  !  good 
lads,"  ten  minutes  before,  and  as  if  the  sailing  flight 
of  the  shy  wood  pigeons  at  first,  and  then  the  whir- 
ring of  the  startled  pheasants  skating  above  their 
heads  alarmed,  ought  not  to  have  informed  them  that 
Long  Rearsby  wood  was  half  drawn  already. 

Never  was  there  a  much  longer,  and  never — to 
judge  from  the  attracted  attention  of  both  parties — a 
much  more  satisfactory  explanation  or  confession,  or 
whatever  it  might  be  called,  than  that  of  Colonel  Percy 
Fairfax  of  Accomac,  Virginia.  To  judge  from  the 
lady's  rosy  blushes ;  but  perhaps  they  were  only  the  light 


A  BKEaKFAST,  AXD — BKOKEN  BONES.     155 

reflected  upward  from  her  scarlet  habit — lils  explana- 
tion was  not  very  humiliating  to  her  self-esteem.  Nor, 
to  judge  from  the  sparkling  eyes  of  the  gentleman — 
though  they  might  have  been  flashing  with  indigna- 
tion at  his  own  Avickedness — was  his  self-humiliation 
very  distressing  ;  though,  God  knows,  I  believe  he  ac- 
cused himself'  of  a  lonf]^er  cataloOTe  of  all  the  cardi- 
nal  vices,  than  the  Pope  of  Rome  ever  listened  to  on 
Palm  Sunday. 

The  absolution,  however,  was  soon  granted,  it  would 
seem  ;  and  it  is  very  certain  that  whether  Colonel 
Fairfax  understood  Mary  Merton  or  not,  whether  he 
understood  himself  or  not,  or  any  thing  else  "on  the 
earth,  or  in  the  heavens  above  the  earth,  or  in  the 
waters  under  the  earth,"  it  is  very  certain  that  with- 
in five  minutes  after  he  began  explaining,  Mary  Mer- 
ton understood  him  from  the  crown  of  his  hat  to  his 
under  spur  leather.  But  she  did  not  tell  him  so,  I 
suppose,  because  she  wanted  to  understand  him  better. 

Two  or  three  farm  servants  whom  they  had  sauntered 
past  unnoticing,  but  not  unnoticed,  nudged  one  another 
as  they  stared ;  and  of  the  last  two  who  stood  stock- 
still  scratching  their  shock  heads  and  glaring  after  them, 
one  said : 

"  Lauk  a'  maighty,  Tummas,  beant  they  two  a  love- 
talking  ?" 

But  desperately  was  honest  Hodge  out ;  not  love-talk- 
ing a  whit ;  for  not  a  syllable  about  love  had  passed  the 
lips  of  either  ;  only  love-making,  with  all  their  hearts, 
and  souls,  and  eyes,  and  tongues ;  only  for  hands  and 
lips  the  love-making  had  been  perfect. 

Yet  neither  had  the  smallest  suspicion  of  the  love- 
making,  and  she  only  had  a  faint  suspicion  that  she 
was  being — made-love-to — if  I  may  coin  a  word  foi 
the  occasion. 

There  came  a  loud  lubberly  whoop  just  before  their 
noses,  and  they  awoke. 


156     A  BREAKFAST,  AND — BROKEN  BONES. 

A  farmer's  boy  was  holding  a  gate  wide  open  be- 
fore them ;  for  at  this  point  the  lane  ended  in  a  wide, 
open  pasture,  sloping  downward,  with  a  wide  stretch 
of  grass  land  below  it,  to  a  wide  brook,  with  an  osier 
bed  on  the  farther  bank,  about  a  mile  and  a  half  to  the 
left,  ha.rd  before  them.  The  w^hoop  had  been  extracted 
from  the  lout  by  the  view  of  a  magnificent  dog-fox, 
who  was  crossing  their  paces  at  about  three  fields'  dis- 
tance, pointing  down  to  the  river  bed.  And  both  saw 
at  once  that  the  air  must  have  been  alive  for  ten  min- 
utes at  the  least  with  the  challenges  of  single  hounds, 
the  crash  of  the  pack,  the  cheers  of  the  whippers-in, 
and  the  squealing  yell  of  Osbaldiston.  For  Long 
Rearsby  wood  lay  about  a  mile  distant  from  them,  on 
the  same  ridge  on  which  they  stood,  in  their  rear,  to 
the  right,  and  midway  the  declivity  between  the  fox 
and  the  wood  came  the  pack,  heads  up  and  sterns 
down,  the  nucleus  of  the  comet,  whose  tail  of  horse- 
men was  scattered  already  a  mile  long,  back  to  the 
skirts  of  Rearsby.  A  table  cloth  might  have  covered 
the  hounds,  so  well  together  did  they  run.  Their 
pace  was  tremendous. 

In  the  same  field  with  them,  foremost  of  the  post 
flight,  in  which  were  the  Squire,  Val.  Magher,  George 
Paine,  Campbell  of  Saddell,  Goodricke,  and  Alvanley, 
and  Holyoke,  and  half  a  dozen  other  good  ones,  rode 
Jardinier,  whose  light  weight  told,  while  his  horse,  a 
splendid  bay,  well  up  to  fifteen  stone,  was  fresh ;  which 
he  did  not  appear  like  to  be  very  long,  so  fiercely, 
though  quite  needlessly,  was  his  rider  bucketing  him 
along. 

The  fact  is,  that  worthy  was  in  a  worse  temper  even 
than  was  usual  with  him.  He  had,  from  the  first, 
jealous  of  Fairfax,  conceived  a  violent  dislike  to  him 
at  being  beaten  in  their  first  trial  of  strength  as  ri- 
ders, a  dislike  no  wise  diminished  by  his  subsequent 


AND — BUOKEN  B^NES.  157 

defeat  in  their  second  trial  of  courtesy  and  temper  in 
the  ball-room. 

He  had  begun,  therefore,  to  say  very  disagreeable 
and  rude  things  about  the  Virginian  funking  and  back- 
ing out,  when  he  saw  that  he  was  late  at  the  covert 
side.  '  At  last,  as  the  first  hound  challenged,  and  no 
Fairfax  was  to  the  fore,  he  cried  out  aloud,  close  to 
Matuschevitz,  who  had  a  shrewd  enough  guess  how 
matters  were  going, 

''  By  G —  I  knew  it.  The  militia  colonel  Jias 
backed  out.     Fifty  to  a  poneyhe  don't  show  to-day." 

Long  Rearsby  wood  stands  on  the  highest  knoll  of 
a  long  crest  of  knolls  ;  the  lane  by  which  Fairfax  and 
Mary  were  sauntering  unconsciously  along,  lay  below 
it,  and  in  one  place  a  cross  lane  ran  up  from  it  in  a 
right  line,  to  the  spot  where  Jardinier  and  the  Russian 
Count  were  standing,  as  the  former  uttered  this  choice 
morsel  of  the  vernacular. 

In  the  very  point  of  time  in  which  he  spoke,  it  so 
chanced  that  the  pair  crossed  the  opening  of  the  lane, 
full  in  view  of  the  field.  Mary  Morton's  fair  neck 
was  bent,  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  Bonnibelle's  mane  just 
above  the  withers,  her  hands  lying  listlessly  in  her  lap, 
the  reins  flowing  loose,  and  the  mare  choosing  her  own 
path.  Fairfax  was  leaning  toward — almost  over — 
her ;  and  the  animation  of  his  demeanor  was  visible 
even  at  that  distance. 

Matuschevitz  twigged  it  all  in  a  minute,  pointed  ma- 
liciously with  his  whip  to  the  graceful  couple,  and 
said — 

"  You  would  lose,  to   a   certainty,   Jardinier ;  for 
there  he  comes  with  his  elle ;  and  by  all  appearance , 
they  are  both  listening  to  sweeter  sounds,  than  this'' 
dog-music,  melodious  as  it  is — "     At  this  second  the 
fox  broke  straight  for  the  osier  holt.     "  By  Jove  !" 
shouted  the  Count,  "  if  pug  holds  that  line,  Fairfax 


158     A  BREAKFAST,  AND — BUOKEN  BONES. 

■will  have  a  fair  start  yet.     Two  ponies  to  your  one, 
Jardinicr,  that  he  beats  you  again  to-day." 

"Done  I"  roared  the  peer,  "  I'll  kill  him  and  my- 
self too,  first,"  and  down  came  his  whip-stock  like  a 
sabre-cut  on  "Merlin's"  flank,  and  away  he  w^ent 
abreast  of  the  first  hound  that  broke  covert,  amid  a 
volley  of  oaths  from  the  squire,  and  the  cui'ses,  deep 
not  loud,  of  the  whole  field. 

"  I  hope  hell  kill  you  ;  and  I  think  he  will,"  said 
the  Russian  to  himself,  in  hard,  cold  earnest,  and  fol- 
lowed at  a  more  reasonable,  though  still  a  slashing 
pace.  So  stood  affairs  as  they  two  awoke  from  their 
day-dream. 

"  They  actually  have  found,  in  Rcarsby  w^ood.  Miss 
Morton." 

"Actually,  they  have,"  she  replied,  with  an  arch 
smile,  "  and  we  have  the  luck  of  the  turn.  Colonel. 
A  little  more  to  the  left.  Now,  Bonnibelle,  good  girl," 
and  with  the  words  she  gave  her  bridle  rein  a  shake, 
and,  like  a  swan  in  the  air  or  a  ship  on  the  sea,  they 
swept,  graceful  girl  and  graceful  mare,  down  the  gen- 
tle declivity ;  Fairfax  followed,  scarce  half  a  length 
behind. 

The  Colonel  and  his  elle^  as  Matuschevitz  had  mis- 
chievously termed  her  to  plague  Jardinier,  on  the  left, 
the  fox,  the  pack,  and  the  field  on  the  right,  riding  on 
two  converging  lines  which  would  meet  if  produced  at 
the  osier  holt.  But  the  line  of  our  friends,  who  were 
already  nearer  to  the  fox  than  were  the  hounds  them- 
selves, was  so  much  shorter  than  the  other  that  it  was 
only  necessary  for  them  to  maintain  a  good  hard  gal- 
lop in  order  to  nick  the  field  at  the  brook-,  and  then 
fresh  horses  against  blown  ones,  ho  ! 

The  grass-land,  so  far,  was  firm,  level,  and  unbroken 
by  furrow  or  molehill,  and  Mary  Merton  kept  her 
hands  well  down,  and  her  rein  slack,  yet  on  a  pull,  and 
gallopped. 


A  BREAKFAST,  AND— BROKEN  BONES.  159 

The  first  fence  was  what  would  be  called  a  rasper 
for  most  men  and  most  horses.  It  consisted  of  a  small 
grip  of  some  three  feet  width,  a  bank  of  about  twelve 
inches,  with  a  post  and  three  rail  fence,  and  an  old 
clipped  thorn  hedge  of  not  less  than  three  feet  and 
a  half,  within  it.  Beyond  this  was  a  drain  full  of 
bright  water,  at  least  ten  feet  in  width. 

The  color  of  her  cheek  did  not  flush  or  pale,  her 
eye  laughed  wickedly,  her  moistened  lip  almost  smiled, 
as  she  gave  Bonnibelle  her  head,  and  let  her  go  at  it, 
without  a  pull,  hands  down,  and  as  easy  in  her  saddle 
as  a  New  York  merchant-princess  in  a  rocking  chair. 

Nothing  on  earth  is  more  graceful  and  easy  than 
the  sweep  of  a  thorough-bred  over  a  rasper,  and  when 
to  the  beautiful  curves  of  the  animal  were  added  the 
more  exquisite  lines  of  beauty  of  the  girl's  supple 
swaying  figure,  nothing  can  be  conceived  more  lovely. 
No  centaur  of  old  fable  ever  was  more  thoroughly  one 
animal  than  Mary  showed  with  Bonnibelle  over  that 
spanking  leap. 

Another  grass  field  swallowed  in  the  increasing  gal- 
lop of  the  hunters — another  fence,  a  nasty  lean  to 
paling  of  five  feet,  with  no  ditch  on  either  side ;  and 
Mary  tui'ned  her  rosy  cheek — rosy  with  the  blythe  in- 
nocent excitement — to  her  admirer,  who  held  "Thun- 
derbolt" unemulous,  one  length  behind  her,  as  if  to 
see  how  he  handled  his  horse  ;  nodded  her  head,  took 
Bonnibelle  in  hand  a  bit,  and  then,  when  close  in  on 
the  ugly  fence,  up  went  the  little  elbows,  and  in  went 
the  little  heel,  and  Bonnibelle  was  popped  over  the 
palings  before  she  knew  where  she  was.  Another 
grass  field,  and  a  stifi"  up  leap,  to  clear  a  sunken  ditch 
faced  with  strong  masonry,  and  still  the  lady  kept  the 
chesnut  mare's  head  straight,  and  never  wavered  in 
her  seat,  or  shook  in  her  stirrup. 

One  more  field  of  above  fifty  acres  grass,  still  grass, 
a  little  plashy  as  it  sank  toward  Arnesbj  brook,  which 


160     A  BREAKFAST,  AND — BEOKEN  BONES. 

bounded  it — a  deep  brimful  rivulet,  with  steep  banks 
of  eighteen  or  nineteen  feet  of  bright  water.  On  the 
farther  bank  lay  the  osier  holt,  of  about  three  acres, 
a  little  to  their  right,  which  the  gallant  fox  had  dashed 
through  without  stopping,  and  had  been  viewed  away 
in  good  style.  Down  this  grass  field  Mary  and  the 
Virginian,  headmost  now  of  the  field,  gallopped  at 
racing  pace  alone.  But  in  the  next,  divided  from  them 
by  but  a  single  parallel  fence,  thundered  the  field, 
about  a  hundred  yards  behind,  but  riding  parallel. 
The  hounds  swept  over  the  brook,  and  the  osiers 
crashed  but  once  as  they  broke  into  them. 

Mary  put  the  mare's  head,  held  hard,  right  at  the 
bright  water ;  the  marshy  ground,  half  quagmire,  shook 
under  her — but  she  increased  her  pull,  sent  in  her 
single  spur,  and  skimmed  it  like  a  seagull,  turning  in 
her  saddle,  as  she  soared  over  it,  to  laugh  at  Fairfax, 
with  a  wave  of  her  silver-handled  whip  above  her  head, 
and  a  musical  "  hurrah  !  first  over  !" 

It  was  a  wondrous  sight,  even  though  the  ground 
had  favored  her,  to  see  a  girl  leading  a  field  of  men, 
and  such  men,  and  so  mounted,  and  yet  withal  so  fe- 
mininely soft,  so  full  of  every  woman  grace  and  woman 
mirthfulness. 

In  a  second,  "  Thunderbolt"  was  at  her  side — the 
noble  brute  would  be  held  back  no  longer,  the  stufi*  was 
in  him,  and  must  out. 

A  moment  after,  Jardinier's  yell  was  heard  as  he 
cleared  the  Arnesby,  the  leader  of  his  own  squad,  by 
a  hundred  yards,  as  he  was  a  hundred  yards  in  the 
rear  of  his  leaders. 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  tie  Virginian's  face,  and  she 
saw  it  pale,  and  his  lipn  whiten,  and  his  eye  lighten, 
as  he  heard  Jardinier's  yell  of  defiance.  She  saw  that 
his  soul  was  in  it — that  he  must  conquer. 

"  Never  mind  me  !  go  on  !"  she  whispered,  ''  never 
ttiind  me  !  no  one  docs  I     Go  on,  and  beat  liim,  please." 


AND — BROKEN  BONES.  161 

He  looked  at  her  half  doubtfully ;  and  again  that 
glance  was  interchanged,  and  she  said : 

"I'd  rather." 

He  nodded,  with  a  world's  eloquence  in  eye  and  lip, 
though  he  spoke  not. 

"Beside,"  she  added,  "the  pace  will  soon  be  too 
much  for  Bonnibelle." 

As  he  had  crossed  the  holt  the  fox  lay  up  a  little  to 
the  right,  enabling  Jardinier  also  to  lay  up  a  little,  and 
take  a  pull,  still  improving  his  position  toward  the 
lead.  The  next  fence,  a  rasping  bull-finch,  was  taken 
abreast  in  their  stride  by  Bonnibelle  and  Thunderbolt, 
the  lady  leaving  a  fragment  of  her  riding  skirt,  flut- 
tering like  a  banner  among  the  topmost  branches. 
Jardinier  took  it  a  hundred  yards  to  their  right, 
now  not  above  fifty  in  their  rear.  More  to  the  right 
lay  up  the  hounds,  and  this  brought  Jardinier  aim  jst 
abreast  of  Fairfax.  He  would  have  been  quite  so,  had 
he  laid  up  too,  as  he  ought. 

But  he  kept  doggedly  on,  with  his  horse's  head 
pointed  right  at  Thunderbolt's  quarter.  Bonnibelle  was 
thrown  by  the  turn  six  lengths  behind  either. 

The  hounds  topped  the  fence,  a  tremendous  five-barred 
post  and  rail  of  solid  timber,  at  the  head  of  a  steep 
drop. 

The  first  rule  of  riding  to  hounds — the  very  first — 
is  never  to  cut  in  before,  or  across,  or  upon,  a  rider, 
going  at  his  fence  on  his  own  perpendicular  line.  And 
no  one  knew  this  better  than  Jardinier.  But  he  felt 
that  his  own  horse  had  half  his  puff  out,  while  he  saw 
that  "  Thunderbolt"  was  as  fresh  as  when  he  started. 
He  must  be  beaten  again ;  or — make  his  word  good. 

He  held  resolutely  on.  The  fence  was  about  fifty 
yards  distance,  both  horses  at  their  full  stretch  ex- 
tended. 

Had  Fairfax  persevered,  as  his  was  the  right  to  do, 
on  his  own  straight  line,  Jardinier  would  have  leaped 
179 


162     A  BREAKFAST,  AND — BROKEN  BONES. 

upon  his  quarters,  as  he  leaped  diagonally ;  he  meant 
to  do  so. 

Fairfax  too  knew  the  rules  of  riding,  and  his  right, 
and  saw  Jardinier's  felon  movement,  but  gave  no  sign, 

Mary  Merton  saw  it  too,  and  turned  pale  as  death, 
but,  like  a  brave  girl  as  she  was,  screamed  not,  but 
rode  onward,  firm  and  cold  as  death. 

The  horses  still  at  speed,  the  fence  ten  yards  dis- 
tance— on  a  sudden,  in  a  twinkling  of  an  eye,  Fairfax 
stood  bolt  up  in  his  stirrups,  and  by  one  mighty  efibrt 
pulled  Thunderbolt  up  a  length — Jardinier  shot  across 
him,  rose  at  his  leap,  diagonally,  right  before  his  nose, 
but  as  suddenly  as  he  had  risen  in  his  stirrups,  so  sud- 
denly sank  Fairfax  into  his  seat,  lifted  the  fresh,  pow- 
erful brown  hunter  into  his  stride  again,  sent  the  per- 
suaders in  three  times  to  the  road-heads,  and,  firm  as 
a  1  ock,  with  a  rein  taut  as  the  rigging  of  a  ship, 
rushed  him  at  it.  With  a  savage  yell,  almost  an  In- 
dian whoop,  he  rose  him  at  it,  and  the  good  horse  made 
good  his  strong  name,  "  Thunderbolt." 

The  felon  lord  was  taken  in  his  own  trap — full  on 
his  flank  as  he  cleared  the  rails,  counter  on,  plunged 
Thunderbolt,  and,  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  both  horses  and 
both  men  rolled  over. 

But  the  girl — the  glorious  girl !  not  a  man  in  the 
whole  field  dreamed  that  in  any  event  she  would  have 
cleared  those  bars — much  less,  with  such  a  tragedy 
before  her. 

Not  one  of  them  knew  a  true  girl's  heart. 

Pale  as  a  marble  statue,  and  as  firm  and  as  cold, 
both  of  pulse  and  purpose,  she  set  Bonnibelle  under  a 
hard  pull  at  it,  and  with  a  lift  that  a  New  Market  jock 
might  have  envied,  carried  the  good  chesnut  mare  clear 
over  it,  though  her  toes  grazed  the  top  rail. 

A  simultaneous,  heartfelt  cheer,  scul-fraught,  burst 
from  the  whole  of  that  cold,  unimpressive,  unimpas- 
Bioned,  unadmiring,  high-born  field — never  before  was 


163 

such  a  sight  seen,  such  a  sound  heard,  at  Melton  Mow- 
bray. 

Matuschevitz,  anxious  for  his  friend,  was  the  first 
over  the  barrier,  and  what  a  picture  lay  before  him. 

"  Thunderbolt"  stood  erect,  covered  with  dust, 
scratched  skin-deep  in  many  places,  but  otherwise  un- 
scathed, whinnying  for  his  master.  Fairfax  sat  on  a 
low  bank,  pale  as  death,  with  a  thin  stream  of  blood 
trickling  from  his  temple,  and  his  right  arm  hanging, 
with  a  ragged  sleeve,  limber  by  his  side.  But  his 
senses  were  about  him,  for  he  was  smiling  at  Mary,  who 
knelt  beside  him,  fanning  him  with  her  hat,  while  Bon- 
nibelle,  with  reins  and  stirrup  flying  masterless,  led 
the  chase  far  aloof. 

Jardinier  and  the  beautiful  bay.  Merlin,  lay,  as  they 
had  fallen,  motionless,  seemingly  dead. 

"  By  heaven  !  he  has  killed  him.  I  thought  so,'* 
said   Matuschevitz.      "Fairfax,  old  fellow,  how  are 

you?" 

"  Oh !  I  shall  do,"  replied  the  Virginian  faintly. 
"Look  to  them.  They  are  far  worse — I  fear  the 
worst.  I  take  you  all  to  witness,  it  is  his  deed,  not 
mine.  I  must  have  done  as  I  did,  or  died  tamely.  His 
blown  horse  must  have  crushed  me." 

"You  did  right,  nobly,  all  that  you  could  do,"  said 
Beaufort,  who  had  just  come  up,  and  then  Mary  Mor- 
ton looked  up  into  the  Duke's  face,  smiled,  burst  into 
tears,  fainted. 

It  was  for  a  while  confusion  worse  confounded.  But 
water  was  soon  brought,  and  a  surgeon  was  in  the 
field. 

Jardinier  had  fared  better  than  he  deserved.  A 
collar  bone  and  six  ribs  broken,  with  a  slight  concus- 
sion of  the  brain,  rewarded  his  attempt  at  deliberate 
murder.  For  it  was  scarce  less  than  murder,  and  self- 
murder.  But  the  beautiful  bay  Merlin  colt  was  dead 
—the  fii'st  vertebra  of  the  neck  broken. 


164     A  BREAKFAST,  AND — BROKEN  BONES. 

So  much  for  a  brutal  temper,  and  ungoverned  pas- 
sions. 

Fairfax  came  cheaply  off  in  comparison,  with  a  sim- 
ple fracture  of  the  arm,  a  dislocated  ancle,  and  a  few 
scratches. 

Brave  "Thunderbolt**  had  saved  his  master,  and 
was  uninjured. 

Mary  Morton's  faint  was  soon  over,  and  the  news 
made  her,  when  she  heard  it,  as  well  as  ever.  The  old 
admiral  had  come  up  too,  and  Mary  and  he  both  in- 
sisted that  Fairfax  should  be  carried  no  whither  but  to 
Merton  Hall,  and  no  whither  else  was  he  carried.  So 
for  the  present  there  we'll  leave  him. 

Jardinier  was  not  carried  to  the  devil  then — though 
no  one  would  have  cared  a  farthing  if  he  had  been. 

Whither  he  may  be  carried  some  day,  is  more 
doubtful. 

Should  I  hear,  and  you  care  about  it,  I'll  tell  you, 
gentle  reader. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 


For  two  long  months  Percy  Fairfax  lay,  after  the 
first  week,  on  the  sofa  in  the  drawing-room  at  Mor- 
ton Hall;  and  for  two  long  months  Mary  Merton 
nursed  him— not  as  the  ladies  of  the  middle  ages 
nui'sed  their  preux  chevaliers,  with  lint  and  simples, 
and  the  homely  medicaments  of  their  gentle  skill ; 
but  with  her  soft  society,  her  sparkling  conversation, 
her  low  voice,  clear  as  a  silver  bell,  reading  to  him, 
her  rare  contralto,  magnificent,  singing  to  him. 

Happy  man,  Percy  Fairfax  ! 

They  had  no  need  to  make  love,  it  was  made  to 
them  ;  or  it  had  existed  from  the  beginning  unmade, 
uncreated,  awaiting  only  the  touch  of  Ithuriel's  spear 
for  its  full  revealment. 

They  had  no  need  to  talk  love,  for  they  inhaled  it 
at  every  breath,  expired  it  every  breath,  fed  on  it  in 
their  minds,  drank  it  in  their  wine,  lived  on  it  by  day, 
dreamed  of  it  by  night.  Yet  they  never  spoke  of  it 
—-they  seemed  content  to  let  time  flow  on  in  this  hap- 
piness unquestioned,  so  long  as  it  would  flow  on. 
Every  one  took  it  for  granted.  'The  admiral  smiled 
without  speaking.  He  had  inquired  of  the  American 
minister — nothing  could  be  more  satisfactory.  A 
birth,  noble,  in  England— wealth,  fabulous,  in  Virgi- 
nia tobacco,  South  Carolina  Cotton,  Georgia  rice, 
Louisiana  sugar,  not  to  mention  the  niggers,  unname- 
able  in  English  ears  humane. 

And  Fairfax  has  recovered,  and  the  cream  of  the 

(165) 


166  A  BOTHER,  AND— A  BRIDE. 

hunting  season  is  over,  and  his  leave  of  absence  has 
expired.     To-morrow  he  must  return  to  his  bureau. 

It  is  dark,  cold  March  evening — the  rain  is  loud 
upon  the  casements  ;  the  wind  is  loud  among  the  tur- 
rets ;  a  bright  wood  fire  is  flickering  on  the  hearth  in 
the  library ;  and  Mary  Merton  sits — where  we  saw  her 
sit  on  that  hunting  morning — with  her  beautiful  head 
bowed  upon  her  hands,  weeping,  silently,  bitterly. 

The  door  opened  noiselessly,  and  the  fine  head  of 
Fairfax  was  intruded.  With  an  inaudible  step  he 
crossed  the  room ;  and,  before  she  knew  he  was  near 
her,  one  arm  was  round  her  waist,  one  hand  had 
clasped  her  cold  fingers. 

''  Mary,  my  own,  are  these  tears  for  me  ?" 

Her  form  thrilled  in  his  embrace,  like  the  aspen  in 
a  breeze  ;  she  raised  her  beautiful  large  eyes,  gazed 
on  him  wistfully,  but  with  a  sad,  sad  gaze.  She  made 
no  effort  to  withdraw  herself  from  his  arm,  but  only 
shuddered,  from  head  to  foot,  as  if  in  an  ague  fit. 

"  Oh !  Fairfax — don't,  please  don't — you  hurt  me." 

"Hurt  you?" 

"Yes  !  sadly,  cruelly.     I  can't  bear  it." 

"/hurt  you,  who  could  die  for  you — who  owe  my 
life  to  you.     Oh  !  Mary  Merton,  I  hurt  you  ! 

"  Yes  !  that  is  it — that  is  it.  How  could  I  do  so  ? 
What  a  wicked,  wicked  girl  I  am." 

"  For  saving  me,  Mary  ?" 

For  one  moment  her  old  smile  lit  up  her  face,  but 
she  burst  into  tears  again.  "  Oh,  no  !  not  that — not 
that.     Oh  !  you  will  hate  me  now,  Percy  Fairfax." 

"I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  God  help  me,  I  don't  know  if  I  understand  my- 
self. But  I — I — Fairfax — Fairfax — I — I  can't  he 
— your's.     There — it  is  spoken." 

And  she  burst  into  a  wilder  paroxysm  of  tears  than 
ever. 

"  Great  God !  and  can  I  have  misunderstood  you  ?" 


167 

She  raised  her  head  slowly,  shook  hack  her  hair 
from  her  eyes,  and  looked  full  in  his  face.     "  No  I" 

"What  is  it  then? — speak,  for  the  love  of  God! 
Bpeak  to  me,  Mary  Merton." 

"I  cannot  tell  you." 

"  Is  it  your  father  who  opposes  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Another,  whom  you  prefer — ?'* 

She  looked  at  him,  but  spoke  not. 

"  Pardon  !  whom  you  are  forced  to  wed  ?'* 

"  Death  could  not  force  me." 

"  You  torture  me." 

"  I  know  it — yet  myself  am  tortured  more.  I  can- 
not tell  you  any  thing,  but  only  this :  I  cannot  be 
yours  710W — I  fear  I  cannot  ever.  And  yet  I  cannot 
tell  you  wherefore,  and  I  must  bear  your  ill  opinion ; 
you  must  think  me  wicked,  heartless,  false — " 

"  Hush !  hush  !  I  will  not  hear  you  !"  and  he  spoke 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  to  her,  sternly.  "  One 
question.     You  say,  you  cannot  wed  me  now  T' 

"I  cannot." 

"  And,  perhaps,  never  T' 

"Perhaps  never." 

"And  you  will  not  tell  me  wherefore  ?" 

"I  cannot,'" 

"And  yet,  Mary  Merton,  you — you — Mary  Mer- 
ton— you — ?" 

"Love  you,  Fairfax,  now  and  for  ever,  here  and 
hereafter.  Love  you  through  joy  and  hope,  through 
anguish  and  despair.     You,  and  you  only." 

"  I  am  not  all  unhappy." 

And  he  caught  her  close,  close  to  his  embrace,  and 
she  forbid  him  not,  but  returned  his  embrace ;  but  the 
embrace  and  the  kiss  were  clay  cold,  and  her  icy  tears 
bedewed  his  brow. 

"  And  you  do  not  hate  me  ?"  she  said,  with  a  strange, 
calm  expression. 


168  A  BOTHER,  AND — A  BRIDE. 

"  Mary — my  angel,  my  own  soul !" 

"  And  you  believe  me,  and  that  I  have  a  reason — a 
true  reason  ?" 

"  As  I  believe  that  I  am  a  man,  and  *  that  in  my 
flesh  I  shall  see  God.'  " 

^' Noble,  good,  glorious  Fairfax — and  must  I  make 
you  wretched  ?" 

"  Can  you  give  me  no  hope  ?" 

"I  dare  not." 

"But,  when  we  meet  again — ?" 

"  When  shall  we  meet  again,  or  where?" 

"  In  London." 

"  We  never  go  to  London.  You  and  I  must  never 
meet  more,  unless — there  !"  and  she  pointed  upward. 

"  God's  will  be  done.  It  is  almost  more  than  I  can 
bear ;  but  I  am  a  man,  and  will  bear  it.  Mary,  best 
and  most  beautiful,  do  not  forget  me,  as,  through  life 
unto  death,  I  never  will  forget  you.  And  if — if — if 
this  barrier  pass  away,  you — " 

"  I  will,  Percy  Fairfax,  by  my  life — on  my  soul — 
I  will." 

"  Mary,  my  own,  own  Mary  Merton." 

"  Through  life  and  in  death,  if  never,  ever  yours!" 

He  clasped  her,  and  released  her.     It  was  over. 

He  turned ;  and,  as  he  reached  the  door,  looked 
back  to  her  and  said,  solemnly,  in  the  language  of  his 
land's  greatest  poet — 

"  The  setting  of  a  mighty  hope  is  like  the  close  of  day." 

He  was  gone.     Alas  !  for  Mary  Merton. 


A  bright  balmy  afternoon  in  July,  Hyde  Park 
crowded  ;  all  the  world  of  England's  patrician  beauty 
in  their  equipages,  unrivalled  for  taste  and  horseflesh 


-A  BRIDE.  16& 

the  world  over ;  in  the  ring,  the  flower  of  England's 
manhood,  a-horse  and  around  them. 

A  pony  phaeton,  with  four  wee  white  ponies  and  two 
lady  charioteers,  the  beautiful  black-glancing  Cheshire 
and  soft  Isabella,  creeps  slowly  round  the  ring,  pauses 
near  Buckingham  gate  ;  a  dark  cavalier,  on  a  superb 
white  horse,  leans  over  them,  his  hand  resting  on  the 
hood  of  the  phaeton.  But  his  face  is  very  sad ;  more 
than  sad,  melancholy — more  than  melancholy,  apa- 
thetic !  he  smiles,  but  it  is  with  his  lips  only,  from  his 
teeth ;  not  with  his  eyes,  from  his  heart ;  and  he  talks 
earnestly  with  those  lovely  beings,  and  they  are  earnest 
in  reply.  He  loves  them  not,  but  likes,  almost  more 
than  loving.  They  are  bound  to  him  by  the  memory 
of  a  time.  He  is  Percy  Fairfax.  He  starts,  his  eye 
has  caught  something,  his  hat  is  off,  he  bows,  his  spur 
is  in  white  Moonbeam's  side — he  is  away,  among  the 
press  ;  through  the  gate  ;  in  Rotten  Row. 

What  was  it  caught  his  eye  ?  The  vision  of  a  beau- 
tiful chesnut  thorough-bred  mare,  sweeping,  like  a 
swan  through  the  air — a  ship  through  the  sea— among 
the  high-bred  throng,  and  on  her  back  a  supple,  sway- 
ing figure,  a  long  dark  riding  habit,  a  low-crowned, 
broad-brimmed  hat,  a  black  veil  scarcely  shadowing 
the  rosy  chin. 

Away !     Hope  is  on  the  wind,  and  life  !     Away  ! 

Again  a  glimpse — those  sloping  shoulders,  the  bend 
of  that  slender  neck,  those  tresses  of  pale  gold  of  the 
rider — those  round  muscular  long,  let-down  quarters, 
that  full,  swinging  bang  tail,  of  the  ridden — out  of 
ten  thousand  they  are  Bonnibelle,  and  Mary  Merton. 

Moonbeam  is  at  his  speed,  he  devom^s  the  Row — 
they  are  almost  overtaken,  but  she  has  pulled  up,  and 
he  pulls  up  too,  to  sate  his  eyes  on  that  presence.  It 
is  she,  and  the  old  admiral,  and  another  female  figure  ; 
and  is  it  ? — it  is  Charley — by  her  side. 

They  wheeled.     Fairfax  and  Moonbeam  halted,  and 


170  A  BOTHER,  AND — A  BRIDE. 

met  them  face  to  face.  Brow,  cheeks,  neck,  blazed  as 
onee  before ;  but  she  rode  out  a  horse's  length  before 
the  others,  and  met  him  midway. 

They  shook  both  hands,  horses  and  reins  unheeded. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Mary." 

''  And  I ;  so  vert/ — so  very,  ver^  glad.  And  here 
are  papa,  and  your  old  friend  Charley,  Colonel  Fair- 
fax ;  and  here  is  little  Fan,  Mrs.  Charles  Merton,  I 
should  say;  and  they  have  brought  home  a  little 
Henry  Merton,  and  papa  has  forgiven  him." 

A  strange  gleam  of  day-light  appeared  to  dawn 
upon  Fairfax.  He  thought  he  saw  light  through  the 
cloud  which  had  so  strangely,  so  unexpectedly,  come 
between  them — and  which,  so  inexplicable  had  the 
whole  mystery  appeared  to  him,  he  had  never  dared 
so  much  as  to  try  to  penetrate,  lest  he  should  wrong 
her  in  his  thoughts. 

"  And  7/ou  have  forgiven  me,  Mary  ?"  said  Fairfax, 
all  his  pride  forgotten. 

"No.     But  can  you  forgive  me  V  she  answered. 

She  had  time  to  say  this  much  only,  before  they 
were  surrounded,  and  all  was  for  a  time  welcome,  and 
joy,  and  congratulation.  Fairfax  joined  their  party; 
Charley  was  joyously,  almost  boisterously,  happy; 
little  Fan  full  of  gentle  mirth  ;  the  admiral  more  than 
cordial. 

"  Could  not  Percy  Fairfax — be  hanged  if  he  could 
help  calling  him  Percy,  since  the  day  he  saw  him  so 
smashed — could  not  Percy  Fairfax  ride  home  with 
them  and  dine  in  Grosvenor  Street,  as  he  had  done  at 
Merton  Park,  twenty  times,  without  making  a  fuss 
about  it  ?" 

"  Percy  Fairfax  would  have  been  too  happy ;  but 
— there  always  must  be  a  hut — he  was  on  duty  that 
evening  ;  his  chief  had  an  official  dinner,  he  really  was 
very  sorry." 

And  he  really  was.     But,  before  they   parted  at 


A  BOTHER,  AND — A  BRIDE.  171 

Grosvenor  gate,  he  found  a  moment  to  whisper  to 
Mary,  "  And  may  I  come   and  see  you,  Mary?" 

"  Do  YOU  not  know  you  may?" 

"And' when?" 

''  Whenever  you  please,  Fairfax." 

"This  evening?" 

"Please,  do:' 

"And  when  I  do  come,  you'll  say — " 

"Yes,  sii* — "  with  such  an  innocent,  fond  glance, 
and  such  a  radiant  smile. 

"  Mary — my  own,  own  Mary  Merton." 

"You  said  so,  once  before." 

"And  meant  it." 

"So  did  I,  when  I  said  I  will,  and  so — and  so — T 
teased  papa  'till  he  brought  me  to  London." 

"And  you  will,  dearest  ?" 

"  I  said  it,  once,  but  if  '  you'd  rather,'  I'll  say  it 
again." 

"I'd  rather." 

"Then,  a  will.'" 

"  Then  I  will  come  and  see  you  this  evening." 

And  so  he  did ;  but  the  American  minister's  dinner 
party  did  most  assuredly,  long  and  slow  as  it  was — • 
for  it  was  a  dainty  spread  given  to  those  most 
unutterable  of  all  snobs  and  hypocrites.  Corncob. 
Splendid,  and  the  rest  of  the  League-men — seem  to 
him  longer  and  slower  than  ever  one  had  seemed  be- 
fore. He  would  have  been  perfectly  willing  to  swear 
that  the  soup  was  cold,  though  it  was  reeking  from 
Soyer's  most  particular  marmite  ;  that  the  champagne 
was  hissing  hot,  though  it  was  frappe  au  mo7nent, 
with  the  best  ice  of  Wenham  Lake.  But  slowest 
things,  as  well  as  fastest,  must  have  their  end. 

And  if  the  minister's  dinner  had  been  about  the 
slowest  thing  of  the  season,  the  pace  at  which  Percy 
Fairfax's  cab  went  from  Wilton  Square  to  Lower 
Grosvenor  Street,  after   it,  was   certainly  quite  the 


172  A  BOTHER,  AND — A  BRIDE. 

fastest.  "  Miss  Mary  Merton  was  at  home,"  said  the 
tall  footman,  with  a  serai-conscious  smile.  "  Would  not 
Colonel  Fairfax  walk  up  stairs  ?  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Charles  had  gone  to  Yauxhall,"  he  believed;  "but the 
admiral  would  be  back  from  the  United  Service  in 
half  an  hour;  he  had  been  obliged  to  attend  a  ballot." 

"  How  very  opportune,"  thought  unsuspicious  and 
transparent  Percy  Fairfax,  as  he  walked  into  the 
shadowy,  half-lighted  drawing-room,  and  found  her 
alone,  trying  to  cheat  herself  into  the  belief  that  she 
was  reading  something ;  very  pale,  very  tremulous, 
with  the  trace  of  a  tear  or  two  on  her  cheek,  yet 
lovelier  than  ever. 

''  And  was  that  your  reason,  Mary  ?"  he  said,  after 
he  had  thanked  her  for  saying,  "Yes,  sir,"  and  "I 
will,"  as  he  could  not  thank  her  in  the  Park,  because 
she  was  on  horseback,  and  there  were  so  many  persons 
near ;  "  and  was  that  your  reason  ?" 

"A  silly,  but  a  woman  s  reason." 

"A  beautiful,  because  a  woman's  reason.  But  why 
not  give  me  a  clue  ?  that  was — " 

"  Silly,  Mary,"  she  interrupted  him,  half  smiles, 
half  tears. 

"  Was  it  not  ?" 

"  You  might  have  guessed  it." 

"  Impossible.  You  had  told  me  that  your  father 
had  disinherited  Charles,  and  threatened  to  make  you 
his  heiress ;  but  that  you  would  die  sooner  than  rob 
him  of  his  rights.  Could  you  think  me  so  base  as  to 
covet  my  friend's  rights  to  my  friend's  loss  ?" 

"No  ;  0,  I  was  a  little  fool."' 

"  Why  did  you  not  speak  out,  dearest  ?  why  did 
you  distrust  me,  Mary?" 

"  I  did  not  distrust  you ;  but  I  am  a  woman — and, 
And — I  thought  you  might  have  guessed  ;  and  Percy 
— don't  be  angry,  Percy,  please.  I  knew  you  would 
let  me  do  what  I  wished ;  but  I  was  afraid.'' 


173 

"Afraid  of  what,  love?" 

"  That  you  might  not  be  the  noble  soul  I  thought 
you." 

"And  so—" 

"And  so — "  and  she  burst  into  tears  as  she  spoke, 
"  I  tortured  myself  and  you,  and  very  nearly  lost  you, 
Percy — not  that  I  did  not  love  enough,  but  that  I  loved 
too  much,  and  feared  to  disenchant  myself  with  my 
ideal.  But  I'll  never  do  so  again,  if  you'll  forgive 
me,  Percy,"  and  she  laughed  up  in  his  face,  well 
knowing  that  there  was  nothing  to  forgive,  and  that 
if  there  had  been,  she  was  forgiven  long  ago. 

"I  ought  to  have  guessed,"  he  said ;  "it  is  I  that 
should  ask  to  be  forgiven;  but  henceforth,  Mary 
dearest,  that  word  must  be  unknown,  between  us 
two — 

*  One  feeling  in  two  bosoms, 
Two  hearts  that  beat  like  one,'  '* 

"  Amen,"  said  Mary ;  and  she  sank  coy,  but  not  re- 
luctant, into  his  arms. 

"And  Amen,"  replied  the  old  admiral,  who  re- 
turning quietly  from  his  club,  had  entered  the  twi- 
light room  so  noiselessly,  that  neither  heard  him 
coming,  "  and  now  let's  go  to  supper,  for,  though  this 
love-making  is  meat  and  drink  to  you  young  folks, 
we  old  boys  can  always  do  as  well  with  an  oyster  and 
a  glass  of  old  Sercial,  and  not  quite  so  well  without 
them." 

Happy  Percy  Fairfax  !  Happy  Mary  Merton  !  I 
don't  know  exactly  what  became  of  them  afterward, 
but  I  never  heard  that  either  of  them  ever  foigot  the 
Virginian's  debut  at  Melton  Mowbray. 

THE   END. 


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Webster  Family  Library  of  Veterinary  (Medicine 
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